


Headache

by Str4y



Series: Broken [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Amputee, Angst, Anxiety, Coping, Crying, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, Graphic Description, Healing, Heavy Angst, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Str4y/pseuds/Str4y
Summary: Headaches. Jisung had given him a thousand headaches. Hyunjin, Changbin, everyone. Headaches. Minho just wanted to move on. To let go of the past and be okay. All he wanted was to be okay. To heal and find reason to live on.He hoped that Chan’s therapy would work. Would help him. He needed it to.He just wanted this all to be over with.Part 6 to Chime/broken series





	Headache

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. So this fic has no smut and I’m not sure if it classifies as dark fic. It definitely comes out of the dark fic series that I have going but this fic is a breather in a way? It’s 20k of Minho trying to cope and heal from the rest of the series. It’s all about him. In a way it overlaps a lot with Seungmins fic but in order to move the story properly this part had to come after. This is basically 20k of our little camboy healing. 
> 
> D I S C L A I M E R 
> 
> (dark subjects read at your own risk)
> 
> \- non con and MCD death is not tagged as it’s only implied/mentioned as past events. Read my tags before you bitch about that. That’s what tags are for. 
> 
> \- I don’t condone any of the events mentioned in this fic or any other fic in the series. What happens here is awful and tbh pretty fucking realistic. I think exploring dark topics like this and being able to post the aftermath is very important. 
> 
> \- if you have an issue with this fic leave a cc. Don’t hate anyone who reads and don’t share it to your followers for attention-seeking validation clout. I have learned to no longer be kind to people who have opposition to dark fic. Sorry.
> 
> R E A D T H I S P L E A S E
> 
> \- please take caution while reading. Even though I believe I tagged everything for some reason some of you will scroll by anyways. This fic talks about events that happened in my previous fics to this series. They’re very dark. If you read and don’t heed my warnings, whatever happens to you or your mentality is on you. Not me.
> 
> ***Woojin has been replaced with Chan

Headache

Tick tock. Tick tock. 

It was almost as bad as the chiming. The constant ticking of the clock at the wall. Why did they even have it in here? It was aggravating. It was too much. Every click caused his chest to tense up even more. Even more. Everything was so tense. 

His head hurt. Way more than his hand and ankle. Way more than his bruised back or broken nose. Way more than his…

Everything still stung. But his head? His head was so much worse. Constant pounding and screaming. The television didn’t help. He was sick of seeing his face flash across the screen, a really cute photo of himself smiling from college. College. God he could never go back now. Even though he’d been taking a break, fuck psychology. Nothing he could ever learn about psychology could explain this trauma. Nothing would help him understand this. 

He turned his head to the side, eyes shut as his brows knit. He was miserable. No, miserable was an understatement. He felt sick. Tired. Disgusting. Yeah, disgusting was the biggest thing. He’d felt disgusting ever since he woke up in an ambulance. Disgusting. And filthy. The faces of the fucking paramedics. They looked disgusted. Maybe not at him, they were probably disgusted with the state he was in instead, but it still hurt. Struck an uncomfortable nerve that Minho couldn’t itch. 

His hand. His hand was twitching. Just the ‘good’ hand. If he could even call it a good hand. Well, it would be a good hand. In four or five weeks. That’s why he was still here after all. 

Minho let out a shaky breath, glancing down to the wrapped hand. It would make it out of this thing okay. Lots of surgery but...he hoped it was worth it. 

The other hand...heh. What hand? 

“Ow…” Minho whispered, raising his left arm. He didn’t like the looks of it. He didn’t like the thought of it. He didn’t like the itch. The constant itch. He couldn’t scratch or even try. His other hand was splinted. He couldn’t even scratch it. 

This was infuriating. His chest knotted, head thrown back into the firm pillow as he let his bandages hand—no wrist, fall against his chest. He hated this. 

It was so late. So late. His mom has gone home, though reluctantly. He felt so lonely. So lost. He didn’t like this silence. The tv wasn’t helping. He’d muted it. The tv just made the headache worse. 

He swallowed hard, biting down at his lip. He was so antsy for so many reasons. One of the largest...changbin. 

Tomorrow was…

His chest was so tight. He let his eyelashes flutter, the bandage over his nose clogging half his vision. 

Tomorrow was Changbin’s funeral. It had been weeks. Minho had been here for weeks. And he...changbin. He wanted to clench his hand but his fingers refused. 

Changbin’s face was all over the news too. Older pictures of him smiling and even a little loop of him laughing had been shown a couple times as the news crew talked about what a great person he was. 

It was insufferable. 

Minho finally inched his hand to the remote, forcing his middle digit to press the power button. He shouldn’t be moving but...he didn’t want to sit here. 

And he surely didn’t want to miss the funeral. 

But he didn’t have much choice, did he? His mom would be coming in the morning. The doctors wouldn’t want him leaving either. Though he wasn’t on any watch list...he worried they’d try to put him on one. They’d been overly protective of him, too. Who knew what would happen if he actually snuck out. 

His ankle was healed. He could leave. He could. 

Minho forced a laugh out, eyes moving to stare at the ugly speckled tiles above. He should leave. He could leave a note for—fuck. He couldn’t do that. He’d have to tell someone. He. Maybe he could ask to leave? No he should just go. They’d stop him. 

He had to see Changbin. He had to. He could get dressed somehow. He could manage that. He’d just slide his clothes on and wiggle them up. He could do it. It would be easy. 

Buckling. How would he buckle his pants? He would have to leave them unbuttoned. He didn’t have a choice. He’d just pull his hoodie down to cover it. Yeah...he’d do that. 

Minho glanced at the clock. 

Tick tock. Tick tock. 

He could do this. For sure. It was so late. Only janitors and night nurses right? And he wasn’t a huge concern anymore. Well, he was. Sort of. But not enough. If he covered up. He could get out. He could do it. Please let him do it. 

Minho pulled himself up, throwing his legs over, bare feet hovering over the cold floor. He had to. He couldn’t sit here. He couldn’t wallow and wait. He had to be there for Bin. He had to. It was his fault that...no. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Well, Ji—. He couldn’t even think of his full name. It hurt. It stung. It would send him into panic. Fuck that guy. 

He hissed as his feet hit the floor, shivers running down his spine as he steadied himself. His back was still pained from the bruising. And his face was so sore from cringing. He really needed to find a mask for his face. He had to cover his stupid bandaged nose and busted lips. God, he probably looked so scary and it had been weeks. 

“Ow…” he whined softly, making his way to the small cabinet, glad it was open to reveal a few hoodies and pants. His mom. She was a blessing for this. All these new clothes for when he went home. A good mom. He loved his mom. 

Minho couldn’t stop the painful grin as he glanced inside. He’d have to figure out how he’d get himself into these. If he could get help dressing he would but...they didn’t want him to leave. 

“How the hell…” Minho sighed, looking down at his bandaged wrist before glancing to his splinted hand. 

He could use his splinted hand. Sort of. It would hurt but…he had to. He reached into the closet, fingers reaching around the hanger. Ow ow ow. 

Minho knew he was whining, probably a little too loud. But he didn’t care. They would probably think he was just crying again. He’d done that a lot. But not tonight. No. He wanted to leave. So badly. 

He gripped the hanger, releasing the sweater to the ground quickly. A pretty black with a black and white striped collar attached. Pretty. It would be really pretty. Really pretty for a funeral...not as fancy as he’d like but...he knew the funeral would be busy. Lots of people would be there for sure. 

Minho winced as he raised his leg, pulling pants out to the ground with his foot. This would work. He could do it. Minho raised his arms, leaning forwards until the gown they’d dressed him fell over his head, shaking the rest off quickly. He was thankful they’d let him wear underwear. He’d requested it for...lots of reasons. He just wanted to be covered. 

Minho let out a shaky breath as he crouched himself down, slinking his splinted hand along with the bandaged wrist into the shirt, feeling for the sleeves before tugging the soft, yet thankfully loose, sweater over his head. It felt so nice. The fabric was so soft. His mother really did look out for him. He was so glad the collar on the sweater was wide enough. He liked how it kind of draped around his neck. Good. Tight was bad. Too tight and he’d have never been able to pull it on. 

Pants. 

Minho frowned, adjusting himself so he was sitting at the ground, digging his feet into the opening of the pants now. How he’d get these on...would be a challenge. 

“Come on…” he pouted, using the splint to hold down the waistband of the pants. Of fucking course they were buckled. Dammit. It didn’t matter. He’d just break it if he had to. Or maybe he was thin enough again. He wasn't sure. 

Minho finally managed to slip his legs into the pants, back throbbing as he scooted himself against the floor, happy the pants had cooperated. That is, until it reached his thighs. He really hated his thighs right now. 

“Really…” Minho threw his head back in frustration, tears springing to his eyes from the headache mixing with the pain in his back. This sucked. 

“I have to see Bin don’t do this…” Minho breathed out, wincing as he leaned himself back against the floor, heart racing as he used the splinted fingers to tug the pants up the best he could. 

This was bullshit. Frustrating bullshit. Why couldn’t he just have his hand back? His wrist was useless. He couldn’t even pull his fucking pants up. This was so frustrating. He should have just left the gown on. He was so mad. 

“Please.”

He kept repeating that to himself as he wiggled his hips, inch by inch the jeans covering his stupid thighs. Good. Good. Almost. 

He was straining his hand too much, he knew this. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was dressing, sliding on his shoes, grabbing a face mask and running out of here. Face mask. Ugh how would he get a face mask on? He’d have to loop it with his stupid hand. Ugh. 

Tick tock. Tick tock. 

“Finally!” He growled, sighing in relief as the pants slipped up his hips, settling loosely around them. Of course. They might slide a bit, but it didn’t matter. They were on. Everything would be fine. 

He struggled to pull himself upright, stomach and back muscles straining as he forced himself up. He let out a strained breath. Getting dressed had taken a fucking hour. Fine. Whatever. Shoes were easy. Slides. His mom, a blessing. 

He didn’t care for socks right now. Just needed to get these shoes on and get out of here. Minho quickly adjusted to the shoes at his feet before heading over to the cabinet again, using his fingers to pry out one of the little black masks that stuck out of a bag his mother had brought days before. 

It wasn’t so bad. The mask was easy. Loop, hold, loop. It worked fine. His vision was still a little foggy from the bandage at his nose, but he’d have to make due. He raised the splinted hand, adjusting his glasses over his nose, trying to look less...patient-like. He didn’t look that obvious. Honestly. He’d be okay. 

Minho blinked a moment before glancing at his hair. Ugh. With all the bandages he hadn’t even showered. Oh well. The wake was outside. He didn’t need to smell nice. He looked decent enough. His hair wasn’t the best, even a little too long in his eyes, but it didn’t matter. 

Changbin. He just wanted to see him. 

He had to. 

Minho looked down at the door handle, hissing as his fingers did their best to wrap around the handle. He just had to sneak passed the desk. It’d be fine. It’d be okay. He could do it. Maybe it was busy. Maybe. 

The handle clicked, blinking tears away he pulled the door, using his arm to finish the job, slipping out quickly, though carefully closing door shut silently. 

It was quiet. That was good. Not a lot of activity was best. 

Minhos eyes scanned around. He knew the elevators were close. But should he risk that? No. Stairs. He’d use the stairs. He’d go down the stairs and he’d see Changbin. It would work out. It totally would. 

He held his head down, hiding his hand and wrist in his sleeves as he made his way passed patient rooms. Don’t notice. Please don’t notice. 

Don’t notice. 

Nothing. Nobody said anything. No one asked what he was doing. Nobody cared. Nobody gave a shit and...it was amazing. He reached the stairwell so quickly, tears stinging from all the pressure and straining of his hand. He didn’t want to damage it anymore. He should have been resting it. But he couldn't stay here. He just wanted to leave. He’d come back. Tomorrow. After the wake. He would. He would. 

The scary thing was where he’d go tonight. What was he doing? The wake would be around eight in the morning. He had five hours. Five. What was he doing? 

As he walked passed staff to the front entrance his heart raced. Should he stay the night and hope they didn’t search? No that was dumb. His mother would catch him anyways. He stuck out. He knew he must have. Shit. 

Out the front door, passed a stretcher incoming. He was okay. He’d be fine. It was fine. Everything would be okay. Nobody could stop him. Nobody would. He’d make it. 

——

What now?

Minho shuddered, hand and wrist rest over his thighs in his sleeves. It was cold but at least he’d found a bench in a populous area. Really busy and comforting. Yeah, for once people were comforting. 

He knew Jisung was dead. They found his body weeks after Minho was admitted. He’d been found so far from them though…far from where he fell. 

Being alone scared Minho. He knew that someone else had been there that night. Someone put him into the car. Someone had wrapped his hand and taken care of him...they gave him pills. He remembered pills being shoved down his throat. But Minho didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t know. Nobody was there except him and Jisung...Hyunjin and Changbin were. 

He shook his head, only causing the throbbing to increase as he shivered. Cold. He was cold and tired. And stupidly sad. He didn’t want to cry though. Crying would draw attention. He didn’t want attention. Not at all. 

Minho rest back into the bench, blinking his eyes towards the lights strung along the path. It was pretty. Reminded him of the lights in his bedroom. His bedroom. It was probably gone now. His mom had cleared his things after the incident. His apartment was gone. 

He shut his eyes, releasing a sigh as the darkness overtook him. He was safe here. He could rest. Just for a little. There were just people enjoying the nighttime. It would be fine. He’d be okay. Nobody would touch him or hurt him. He'd be fine. He’d be okay. 

He didn't sleep. For hours he sat there, shivering and whispering to himself like he was crazy. Thankfully nobody ever touched him. Nobody ever did anything. It was comforting. Just being left alone yet still being surrounded by dozens of people. Nice. So nice. He must have passed out. 

——

Birds. They sounded nice. 

Minho pried his eyes open. Though he hadn’t slept well, he hadn’t opened his eyes either. He’d settled in the noise all night. Thankfully. Thankfully, nobody had bothered him. That was good. It was very good. 

Minho rubbed his eyes, noticing an older woman watching him closely. It didn’t bother him much, but it was a little annoying. He didn’t want attention. Not at all. 

“I’m not h-homeless.” He spoke out as the woman’s eyes narrowed. He figured he looked homeless. Maybe troubled. 

She didn’t say much back. She just rolled her eyes, turning on her cane. It didn’t bother him. Nothing would get to him. He wouldn’t let it. 

He stretched himself, peering around. He was so tired. So exhausted. But the sun was up. Which meant he should probably find a way to Changbin. He probably should have settled somewhere closer. He wasn’t sure what time it was but...he had to go see him. 

As he pulled off of the bench he let out a soft groan, rubbing his splinted hand over his hip. He was so fucking broken. 

——

The funeral. Thank god Changbin wanted one outside. Apparently he joked about how American funerals were “more fun” or something to his parents. They were just fulfilling his wish. He’d probably still be cremated later but...they were giving him what he wanted, and Minho thought that was beautiful. 

Why was he here? 

He was far from the family. Behind trees, watching. He could see so many people. Koreans and Americans. He must’ve had so many friends. It hurt. Watching them all. 

Oh no. He could see Changbin’s parents. His sister. They looked so...

Minho let out a shaky breath, crossing arms over his chilled body, watching closely. He felt horrible. Responsible. He felt sick. 

He was of course crying, tears icy cold against his cheeks. He wanted to sleep. To lay down and just sleep. He didn’t want to feel so horrible. So guilty. 

This was a horrible feeling. Being here. He could see the family bowing to the little coffin. His chest tight. It didn’t take long before he was slumped against the tree, face buried in his knees despite the uncomfortable stinging in his back. He felt so defeated. So sick and just so fucking awful. This was his fault. Right? Changbin wouldn’t have gotten into this mess if Minho would have just reported that monster...he should have reported them. He shouldn’t have let that nasty blonde man control him the way he did. Why did he make Changbin leave that night? Why did he let that man drug him and take him to those stupid mountains? 

He shuddered, face stinging from the tears. He shouldn’t be crying. He was going to cause himself issues by crying. His face needed to heal. Crying wasn’t going to help him. He was such a hindrance. God, maybe he should have been on the watchlist. He wanted to die. He really wanted to die. 

Minho rubbed his eyes against his sleeve, glasses tossed to the ground from annoyance. He was so tired. He was sure his mother had panicked by now at the hospital. He should go back. He didn’t want to worry her. Or maybe he should step in front of a truck. Yeah, maybe he should— 

“Hi.”

Minho couldn’t help but be startled, curling against the tree with a gasp. He didn’t want attention. 

“I-I’m sorry. I’m just...I—“ He didn’t even look up, he just kept rubbing his eyes, breath shaky. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to deal with anyone. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Oh, oh no you aren’t doing anything wrong!” Whoever this was sounded panicked in a way. Like they really hadn’t meant to shake Minho up. But he didn’t care. He wanted to be alone. He didn’t want to talk to any of Changbin’s friends. They’d see his face. His face was all over the news. Oh god. They’d know he was the reason Changbin was gone...he—

“Minho, right?” The voice sounded more relaxed. Oh no. They knew who he was. They knew he was him. This wasn’t good. He shouldn’t have been here. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good. He was going to panic. 

“I’m Felix.” 

“Felix, Stop.” Another voice sighed. 

Minho peered an eye open, met with a head of darker red hair. Someone he’d definitely never seen before was kneeling down, some distance. But not enough. 

“I’m sorry about him. He saw you over here and...he wanted to check on whoever it was.” The male spoke. He must have been a friend of Changbin’s. He was young. 

Minho couldn’t answer, he just let out an anxious breath, pulling himself up painfully against the tree. He was trapped. Anxious. Tense. 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry...I didn’t mean to startle you. I just...I noticed you over here and I. Nobody else saw you. I promise.”

“Felix, hush.” The other man laughed this time. But it was a loving laugh. Like...it was comforting in a way. “Do you want us to leave?” The red headed man asked, the other blonde pouting in reply. 

Minho did. Sort of. He didn’t know them...though they seemed to know him. He was just thankful they weren’t hurting him. He couldn’t focus. 

“I—“ he paused immediately, teeth chattering as he looked between the two, both now standing before him. “I need to leave...I s-shouldn’t be—“

“Why?” The blonde, Felix, asked, face filling with something that could resemble concern. 

“I-I shouldn’t be here. I. I wasn’t I-invited.”

“That’s because you’re supposed to be in the hospital still, right?” The redhead inquired, hands in his pockets, “you just wanted to see him. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Yes he did. He shouldn’t have been there. He was stupid for being here. “I-I need to go.” He should leave. He should go. He should get home. 

“Wait, don’t. It’s freezing. Let us take you back.”

No. He didn’t know them. He didn’t know them. What if they hurt him? What if they were like...no. No people. He needed to get back. 

“How long have you been outside without a jacket…?” The redhead asked then, seeming to hold the blonde back from trying to touch Minho. “You’ll freeze out here. I promise we’ll take you back safely.”

There was a weird comfort In that. But he didn’t know this man. He didn’t know either of them. “N-no I can walk. I should w-“ he stopped, eyes darting around. No. People were starting to leave. They’d see him. They—“t-they can’t see me. I can’t b h-here.”

A jacket. A jacket was placed around his shoulders. And he wanted to cry. And scream. And die. But mostly just sleep. He wanted to sleep. 

“We’ve got you. Nobody is going to bother you.” The taller male whispered, not touching Minho at all, just starting towards the parking that was close enough, “just trust us and you’ll be back fast. Promise.”

Minho was stupid. Very stupid. Because he followed them, head hung low. He suddenly felt very dumb. He shouldn’t be following strangers out like this anywhere. He was being impulsive. What if they tried something? He was so stupid. 

The car was warm. Cozy. They had heated seats. And they turned the heat on. The heat. Whoever had saved Minho that night...they’d turned the heat on. Or maybe it wasn’t a savior at all. Maybe he had done it. Maybe. This all just reminded him of that man. He couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper, gripping the jacket in his damaged grip. 

“I’m Seungmin by the way.” The redhead spoke, pulling out of the area quickly. Minho could catch glimpses of strangers as they pulled away. They all looked so sad. So broken. Distraught and broken. And it was his fault. 

“And I’m felix.” The blonde had turned in his seat, soft expression over his face, “Seungmin told me you were really close to him. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Minho didn’t know how to respond. He just nodded, eyes darting to the outside again. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t. 

“Nobody is going to hurt you, okay?” Seungmin spoke, Minhos eyes glancing into the mirror, the man’s eyes staring back at him. They were filled with sympathy. He didn’t really want sympathy, though. “We’re just taking you back so you can heal…” 

“Should we call anyone for you?.” Felix frowned, pointing to the bandage that covered Minhos nose. It must’ve been very visible. “You look like you left a little too early, huh?”

“He’s not five, Felix.” Seungmin nudged the blonde gently, turning the vehicle out of the cemetery. 

“I know…” 

“I-it’s Fine.” Why did he speak. He shouldn’t speak. 

“I’m so sorry if we scared you at all.” Seungmin was speaking again, “Changbin always spoke highly of you. You probably don’t want to hear much about it but...his parents said something about you too.” No. Why would they do that!? “They said you were a really sweet person. That neither of you deserved what happened.” 

Minho tensed, swallowing hard enough for tears to fog his eyes again. 

“Oh, I grabbed your glasses by the way.” Felix was still watching him, smile fading as he saw Minhos expression. He must’ve looked so horrible. “Hey...it’ll be okay. We promise.” 

He placed the glasses at the seat. Retracting his hand quickly, though eyes still glued. “I want to apologize to you.”

“Felix.”

“No, I should. I should apologize because...Seungmin we should.”

Why? Why did they need to apologize? 

“Ji—“

“Felix don’t say it.”

“That man. The one who…” Felix stopped, seeming to notice how uncomfortable Minho had become, “I’m so so sorry for what he did. To both of you. To that other man, too. I’m so sorry that he did all of that. I’m sorry that we didn’t know he was..”

“Felix, please stop.” Seungmin tapped Felix at the cheek, causing him to sigh and turn in his seat, “I’m sorry about him. He feels guilty because we knew him, too. Not well but...we didn’t know that he was like that.”

Minho didn’t really feel any more comfortable. He wanted to get back to the hospital. He wanted to break down. And panic. And cry. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Minho, what’s your favorite color?”

Minho winced, the blonde looking at him again. Seungmin just shook his head with another sigh, “Felix please leave him alon—“

“I like mint.” Minho whispered back, the blonde offering a half smile. 

“Mint. That’s so soft and pr—it’s a beautiful color.” Felix seemed to stop himself from saying — oh. It made sense. The news had mentioned how that monster had constantly referred to Minho as ‘pretty’. It wasn’t a word that Minho would cancel out. But he appreciated the other males caution. Hearing that word was just as bad as that monsters name. 

“W-what's yours?” Why was Minho talking to them?

“I like black the most.” The blonde beamed. And okay, maybe he wasn’t scary. He was kind of cute. And bright. He didn’t seem to mean any harm. 

Neither of them did. And Minho had seen a hospital sign. They wouldn’t hurt him. They wouldn’t do anything bad to him. 

“B-black is a good color, too.” Minho averted his gaze again, staring down at the sleeves of his sweater that covered his mangled hands—hand. 

“You can keep my coat by the way.” Seungmin yawned, turning the vehicle into more familiar territory, “it’s really warm.”

“N-no I’ll give it back when I leave.” Minho stammered, slinking the jacket off of his shoulders, pushing it over to the side, using his fingers in his sleeve to pick the glasses up from the seat. 

Felix was watching his every move. He could tell. 

——

“T-thank you.” Minho whispered, standing awkwardly outside of the car, the two strangers seeming just as tense. 

“No problem. Just please get some rest. Take care of yourself.” The blonde smiled again, reaching his hand out some only to retract it once more. 

Maybe he wanted them to touch him. Maybe the constant fear of touching him was making him feel worse. The caution. He didn’t like the caution. He wanted attention. He—

He was crying again. 

“I-oh no did I do something I’m so sorry did I?” Felix sounded panicked. Like he’d actually hurt him somehow. He didn’t want Felix to think that. No. Felix seemed so sweet. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want him to feel bad. 

But he couldn’t help his tears. Or his stupid pathetic sobbing. He was so weak. So fragile, and for what? That man was dead. He wouldn’t harm him. Nobody would. He was safe. Why was he hurting so much? 

He didn’t expect it. The sudden embrace. The sudden warmth. He wasn’t sure how he felt in the first few seconds. But he. Yeah. He liked it. He liked the warmth. He liked it so much that his sobs just grew. He felt bad, crying into Seungmins shoulder like that. But it was so warm. So...comforting. 

“Seungmin what are you…” Felix seemed startled, worried. 

“N-no. It’s okay.” Minho choked, burying his face now to avoid Felix’s worried expression. 

He didn’t fucking know them. So why was he so heartbroken? So relieved with this man’s touches? Why was it comforting?

Seungmin’s embrace was so warm. He wasn’t holding too tightly, though it was enough to put some pressure onto him. But it wasn’t bad pressure. It was fine. 

It was so nice. Minho wasn’t sure how long it took. But he must’ve passed out in Seungmin’s arms. Because the next thing he knew he was in his bed again, his mother settled in the chair. She had her hand wrapped around Minhos good hand that rested over his chest. It was warm. 

He didn’t want to bother her. He just glanced around the room silently. It was just them. The other two he met must’ve left. That was okay...he didn’t know them. They were just there to get him back. And they had. He was grateful. 

Minho stayed silent, tapping his fingers at his mother's hand. She was so tired. And her makeup was a little runny. Minho was in his gown again, though. But he must’ve worried her. That’s the last thing he wanted to do. Disappoint her anymore than he already had. He didn’t want that. Not one bit. 

He tilted his head some, admiring his mother’s glow. Maybe it was the sun illuminating from the window, but she was so bright. He felt so awful. So awful for leaving. But he’d tell her why. When she was awake he’d tell her. She’d understand. 

Minho let out a sigh, closing his own eyes as the sun warmed his face. Everything felt so calm. So nice. Every once in awhile peace just swept over him. Made him forget all the awful things. Of course it was going to take so much time to forget, but he’d manage. He had to. No matter how clouded his thoughts go — he knew why he didn’t ever leap from his apartment. His mom. 

“Minho?”

His eyes fluttered open, head quickly turning as his orbs squinted towards his mother. She was awake faster than he’d thought. 

“Hi mom.”

She looked...not as disappointed as he thought. She seemed more sullen than anything. 

“I’m glad you’re okay...I was so worried.” She whispered, voice soft as she tightened her grasp against his hand. He felt awful. 

“I’m so sorry…”

And just like that all the bad thoughts flooded him again. 

And just like that they lingered. Stayed for too long. 

It got so bad that...well maybe it was normal for someone to suggest this after trauma? It got so bad that his mother suggested therapy. And everyone around him did too. 

And as soon as he was discharged his mother basically demanded he go see someone. Like, it hadn’t been that long. Why did she want him to talk about this with someone? Especially a stranger. 

Minho didn’t like therapy. He used to go for his stuttering. But of course nothing worked. The therapist sucked and only made Minho feel small. She would demand he speak out and open up. He couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t.

——

Therapy was garbage. 

But he was here. Sitting in the chair across from some man he didn’t know. 

“I heard you turned down the group sessions.” 

Of course he did. He couldn’t handle a group of people. He could barely handle being at the funeral yards away from Changbin’s family and friends. How could he handle group therapy? 

“It’s better this way, right?” The man had tried talking to Minho for a few days now. Minho would stammer out a couple sentences and they’d eventually run out of time. But it was fine. Minho just...He was waiting for this man to just tell him to leave for good. To stop wasting his time. 

“You said yesterday,” did Minho day anything? He couldn’t recall. “That you were afraid of being alone. You had to be in a busy place when you left the hospital.” Did he say that? “Being alone, do you think that anyone will hurt you if you’re not in a large setting?”

Yes. 

“N-no.” 

“Minho, it’s okay to be scared. After everything.” The man adjusted himself, hands linked at his knee. He wasn’t writing anything down. He was just giving Minho all of his attention. “Fear is normal. You don’t have to repress anything here. You’re not alone.”

He felt alone. He wasn’t sure if it was trauma from the ra—incident. Or if it was from that night. Maybe it was everything. Ji—That disgusting human’s destruction over time, or the night he snapped and nearly killed Minho. 

“I-I don’t know why.” Minho sighed, fingers clinging to the blue sweater at his shoulders, “I-I don’t know what made me s-so.” He threw his head back in frustration, keeping his eyes off of the man sitting too closely. 

“It’s okay. Just take a breath. Minho, we have all the time in the world. You can take as much time as you need.”

He was right. Minho had all the time. He didn’t have to pay for this. With his specific case he was getting all of this for free. All because he survived that awful shit…

“I’m tired of seeing it.” Minho took too long to speak. But the man before him didn’t care. He just nodded, offering a soft smile and nodding Minho along. 

“That night?”

No. 

“T-the news.”

“Ah.” The man brushed his fingers through his messy brown hair, inching back into his seat, “the news won’t stop replaying it, will they?”

Minho sighed, “it’s constant.”

“Why do you watch it?”

Because he kind of wanted to see it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Is it the guilt we talked about?”

Guilt. Of course. He deserved to see it, didn’t he? It was his fault. It would always be his fault. 

“You have nothing to be guilty about. What happened to them wasn’t your fault.”

He’d heard it every day now. How Changbin and Hyunjins deaths weren’t his fault. 

“I-it was though.” Minho rolled his eyes, arms crossing. He winced at the sensation from his wrist. He hated this feeling. He’d never get used to only having one fucking hand. 

“It wasn’t. He was…” the therapist took a moment, seeming to sift through every word he could. “He was a monster.” Minho wasn’t sure he was supposed to say that. He wasn’t sure how therapists were supposed to talk, “everything that happened was because of him. He wouldn’t have stopped doing what he was doing. What he did was unspeakable.”

“It’s still…” Minho glanced to the clock at the wall. 

Tick tock. Tick tock. 

“I should l-leave.”

He rose from the chair, hand inside his sweater shaking as the man before him turned to the clock, a little sigh leaving his own lips. Like he was upset the time had passed so quickly. 

“I’ll see you in a couple days Minho. Please get some rest—and please eat.”

“I will. T-thank you, Chan.”

He wouldn’t. Minho was notorious for lying to Chan. He wasn’t good at expressing anything truthful. Except his guilt. Which was literally eating away at him. He refused to eat most of the time. And he’d only really eat if his mother cooked dinner. Which was often but...Minho didn’t like to think of the food he’d vomited because of his stupid guilt. He felt horrible wasting his mother’s meals like this. But he couldn’t help it. He just felt sick all of the time. 

——

“Minho, are you feeling any better?”

Felix was waving a hang in front of his face, smoke filling his view. 

Yeah, Felix had gone to see him at the hospital a few times after they met. It was nice. Felix was really sweet. Seungmin, too. It was odd how the younger boy had seemed to attach himself to Minho. Very odd. Felix had done the same but...not at Seungmin’s level. Seungmin would literally force Minho to eat when they hung out. And he’d constantly make Minho feel good about himself with stupid compliments and praise. Which of course worked. A lot of the time. 

“I’m okay.” Minho sighed in reply, taking an inhale of the e-cig that he’d asked Felix to buy him. 

“You’re a bad liar.” Felix laughed, inhaling his own cancerous stick, smoke exhaling from his nostrils, “Seungmin’s worried about you. He literally never stops talking about you. He’d probably kill me if he found out I bought you that thing.”

“B-but it helps.” Minho pouted, keeping the electronic device between his lips as his splinted digits curled around them, “a lot actually.”

“Still. Seungmin would kill me.” Felix laughed, freckles bright, “he wants you to come eat dinner with us tonight. He said he doesn’t like how skinny you’ve gotten.”

“H-he’s only known me for two months.”

“Two months is enough to notice how little you’ve gotten since leaving the hospital.” Felix replied, trying his best to not frown at Minhos shape. 

Minho knew he was tiny. He had gotten so small that his ribs had poked again. And he could feel his stomach aching daily. But he had to ignore it. That stupid man had fattened him up so much that...it felt awful. He didn’t want to get that way again. 

“F-Fine.” Minho took another long drag, losing grip of the cig in his mouth only for Felix to hold it in place for him. He hated feeling so defeated and weak. 

“How’s therapy?” Felix asked, keeping the e-cig still as Minho shot him a quick glare. 

“I-it’s whatever.” He stammered through, raising his injured hand back to the cig, tugging it from his lips and Felix’s own small hands, exhaling through his mouth as his head rest against the warm bricks, “he’s nice.”

“Is it helping? Does he make you talk about that stuff?”

“T-trying to.”

Felix pouted, resting his head against Minhos shoulder. He’d grown very fond of Felix in the past few months. He was very sweet. Cuddly. Kind of like Minho in a way. Though he was far more sweet. For sure. 

“H-he wants to keep talking about the a-alone thing.”

“I mean, it’s what’s keeping you from living on your own again. He’s just trying to help.”

“B-but you know I don’t want to talk about you know...” 

“I won’t say his name. But I know. But like…” Felix paused, resting his chin at Minhos shoulder blade, large brown eyes gleaming up at him, “maybe the sooner you talk about him, the better you’ll feel.”

He doubted that. The mere mention of that man’s name was enough to hurt him. To send him into panic. He’d hurt him so badly that everything just felt so heavy. 

He was feeling very heavy right now. 

“I’ll stop.” Felix whispered, looping an arm around Minho, offering a heavy sigh as he let his head rest back into Minhos nape. 

Felix was comfortable. He didn’t have to do much to make Minho feel better. It was good for him. He wasn’t Changbin. And he wasn’t the blonde demon…but it was so comforting. Like he’d known this man for years. 

——

“Say ahh.” Seungmin repeated, poking the fork of beef at Minhos lips. Why was he so obsessed with treating Minho like a child? “Please?”

“Seungmin. You’re being annoying.” Felix laughed, swatting Seungmin’s hand away from Minho, giving him the fakest stern look Minho had ever seen, “he’ll eat if he wants to.”

“No he won’t.” Seungmin sighed, setting the fork to his plate though keeping his eyes glued to Minho. 

“I-I will.” Minho huffed, his own eyes darting down to the plate of food. Food that Seungmin prepared. For him. He shouldn’t waste it. He shouldn’t.

—— 

He ate too much. He ate too much. 

Minho gripped his toilet seat the best he could, trying to stay quiet. He didn’t want to wake his mom this late. And he really didn’t want his cats scratching at the door worrying about him. Which was odd, that his cats actually worried about him. God he was so pathetic. 

He stopped, pulling himself up before settling into the tub. He didn’t care that he was still in his sweater. Better this way. He didn’t want to see his hand. Or his...whatever the other thing was. He didn’t want to see it. 

As the water rose he couldn’t help but bite his lip, shuddering as the cool water hit his legs. This was stupid. 

He hated crying in a cold bathtub. Not even his stupid tears could warm his stupid ass. He was so stupid. So self destructive and he knew it. He fucking knew it. 

——

“Minho.”

He didn’t want to be here. His eyes were closed tight, arms crossed and holding around him, hoodie pulled over his wrist and hand. He felt sick, too. Probably because he sat in a cold bath all night. Like a fucking idiot. 

“Here.” Chan was holding out tissues. He must’ve been so obvious. So stupidly obvious. 

“Minho, did you stay outside all night?” 

It was still cold. It was still cold outside. It made sense. 

“N-no.”

“You look so pale today. And you must have a fever. What happened last night?”

Minho took a deep breath. He didn’t want to cry here. He hadn’t yet. He hadn’t done it yet. 

“I took a cold bath.”

“In the winter?”

Yes. In the winter. What a dumb question. 

“Yes.”

“Why would you take a cold bath?” Chans eyes were filled with some sort of concern. The same concern that usually filled Seungmin’s. 

“I don’t know.”

“Did you…” Chan paused, “was it punishment for something?”

Minho winced. 

“Punishment for…?” Chan wasn’t even being that invasive. Minho had told Chan before that he was self destructive. “Did you empty your stomach again?”

“I did.” He answered hastily, fingertips tugging at the loose strings in his sweater, “I-It was too much.”

Chan didn’t frown. He actually offered a smile. Small, maybe not all genuine, but a smile nonetheless, “Minho, Nothing that happened is your fault.”

Minho didn’t want to cry. He hadn’t so far he was doing so well. 

But he was. He bit his lip, eyes glued to his pale beige sweater, droplets melting into the fabric. He hated this. He hated feeling so awful. Maybe he was breaking down because he was sick, but it was horrible. He hated feeling so terrible. 

“I—“

He couldn’t control his stupid sobs. Or his stupid sleeves that shot up to wipe his eyes. He felt so stupid. 

“Minho, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t deserve what happened. Changbin didn't, neither did hyun—“ no. 

“Yes he did!” Minho didn’t mean to yell. He didn’t mean to startle Chan either. He paused, mouth agape. Chan settled, watching him closely for anything. “He deserves it. Hyunjin deserved it.”

Minho was going to be sick. He was sick. He was just so sick and suddenly he felt very lightheaded and tired. And exhausted and angry. He was so angry. 

“Hyunjin. Why did he deserve it?”

“Y-you know why!” Minho was crying. His tears were stinging the leftover cuts at his cheek. Most had healed by now, but the deeper ones...the ones cut from Hyunjins bones, they lasted so much longer.

“Because of what happened. When he raped you?” Minho hated that word. He hated that word. 

“H-he didn’t really. I wanted to do it with him. He didn’t. Not that. That was Ji—“ he stopped, growling out to himself, sleeves settling against either ear. He wanted to scream. 

“Hyunjin didn’t. But he betrayed you. He still hurt you. He didn’t tell anyone what happened. And he took too long to apologize, right?”

Minho sobbed now, pain shooting through his chest. Yeah. Yeah Hyunjin betrayed him. Hyunjin was his friend. His stupid crush for fucks sake. Why did Hyunjin introduce that man? Well, no. He didn’t. Minho was the one who stumbled upon them. He did this to himself. 

“No you didn’t. You didn’t do this to yourself at all.” Minho was talking aloud by accident. Shit. 

Chan sighed, “Minho, you have to realize that this isn’t your fault. It’s Jisungs. It’s all his fault.”

His name. His name. Chan wasn’t supposed to say his name. Well, he never told Chan not to. But it stung. It hurt. He hated that name. He hated that man. 

“It’s mine...I should have. I—“

“You were scared, right? When did Jisung start contacting you again?” Again. He said it again. 

Minho gasped out, curling into himself. He needed Chan to shut up. He felt like a stupid child. Crying on the couch. He didn’t want to feel this way. So defeated and small. 

“Minho.”

“A-Stop.”

Chan did. He fell silent. 

Good. He couldn’t continue. Not today. 

——

“He really did that?” 

“I-it’s his job.” Minho didn’t mean to make Chan sound bad. He didn’t at all. He was just trying to help. Even though Minho refused to believe it wasn’t his fault he could sense deep down that Chan was just doing his job. Minho had looked it up to make sure. He was just trying to use some sort of therapy shit on him. Stuff Minho learned in psychology before he decided to unofficially drop out. He was just trying to get him to talk about what happened. 

“Exposure therapy.” Seungmin sighed, sliding into the bed that Felix and Minho were laying in, wrapping his arms underneath of Felix’s torso as he buried his red head of hair into the freckled man’s back. “He’s going to get you to talk about it.”

“That’s wrong isn’t it?” Felix frowned, patting Seungmin’s hair before turning his attention to Minho again, “to make you talk about it again…”

Minho, personally, wanted to bury it. 

“I don’t k-know.” He lay his head against the warm orange sheets, eyes fluttering shut as Seungmin started to say something else. He couldn’t make it out. 

He felt so helpless. Talking this shit out would probably help but he just...He really didn’t want to. He knew it’d help even. But the guilt. The guilt was eating at his chest. How could he possibly not feel guilty about his friends deaths? About how his ignorance and lack of regard had both gotten them killed, and thoroughly gotten himself harmed. It was his own fault. And he just didn’t want to bring it up again. 

Minhos eyes opened again. Time had passed of course. Felix was gone. He must’ve gone out somewhere. It was just him and Seungmin; who was still settled at the bed, arms wrapped around a pillow that must’ve replaced Felix. 

“You should do it.”

He didn’t expect that. 

“D-Do what?” Minho frowned, adjusting himself from the uncomfortable position so he was now on his back, crossing arms over his stomach. 

“You know what.” Seungmin let out a long breath, “I can’t imagine. And I’d never ask you what happened that night, but maybe opening up to a professional who is only trying to help you get better is a good thing.”

Minho blinked a couple times, chest getting heavy again. “I don’t know what to do.” He didn’t even stutter. “I know it’ll help...I’m not even. I can’t deny it.” 

“What’s holding you back, Min?”

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. 

“Where’s Felix?”

Seungmin sat himself up, giving Minho a weak smile as he placed the pillow over Minhos torso, “he went to practices. Even though his school is on break he’s still determined to get practice in.” 

“Ah…”

“Are you going back to school ever?”

Minho rolled his eyes, pulling himself up, squeezing the pillow that rest in his grasp now, “I don’t think I can. Psy-I just don’t think so.”

Seungmin reached over, a slight pat to the top of Minhos head, “I’ll support whatever you choose to do. We’re friends now. And I’m not going to force you into anything and...if you’d like I don’t have to talk about it again either.”

Minho tensed, “friends.”

Seungmin pulled his hand back, expression faltering some. 

“Wha-what was he like...with you?”

Why did he even ask. It was random. Unnecessary. 

“With /him/?”

Minho nodded, pressing his chin into the plush pillow. 

Seungmin crossed his legs, leaning back into his arms in thought. He would tell him at least. Seungmin was...very open. About everything. It was like he held no secrets. 

“He was...very charismatic.” Of course. “And odd. He had a very strange obsession with being perfect.” Minho knew that. “Praise. If you praised him he’d fall in love. He loved praise.”

“Did y-you ever notice he was...off?” Minho just wanted to know how he was with others. Was it only with Minho where he was a monster? 

“Ji-He was manipulative for sure.” Seungmin’s expression changed again. But Minho couldn’t make it out properly. “He had a stupid labeling system. And if someone had his own color he—“ Seungmin stopped, falling backwards into the bed with a long sigh. 

“He what?” Minho asked, reaching his damaged hand out to poke the younger man’s forehead, “tell m-me.”

Seungmin let out a small laugh, eyes set on Minho with a weird concern, “he used to go around and say that nobody could be yellow but him. Like…he told me that yellow was pure. That only he could…” Seungmin stopped, eyes seeming to fill with concern again. Ugh. Minho hoped he wasn’t teary-eyed or something. 

“Did he hurt everyone who was yellow?”

Minho had been called yellow. Jisung had called Chanbin yellow. Hell, Hyunjin must’ve been yellow too. 

“Minho…”

“I-I’m serious. Did he ever seen threatening about that?” 

Seungmin’s expression said it all. Yeah. He’d threatened anyone with his stupid color. What a fucking delusional asshole. 

“He joked about it.”

Minho let his face fall into the pillow. If he was going to cry he didn’t want Seungmin to see him.

“Minho…” He didn’t want Seungmin to see. 

He felt the warm embrace, arms looped around him comfortingly. He should have hated being touched. But something about Seungmin...it comforted him. Even with Felix he got tense, but Seungmin...it was odd. He was so comfortable. Like a best friend. 

“This is why you should talk to your therapist about this. You’re not alone in any guilt your feeling...I should have noticed that he was off.”

“Y-you couldn’t have known.” 

“Neither did you.”

——

Minho still felt sick. No matter how much pep talking Seungmin had given him, he was still so anxious. He’d tried his hardest to keep down the food Seungmin had made him before arriving but...he just felt sick. 

“Hey Minho.” Chans voice was soft as usual. Comforting. But nothing about today would be comfortable for him. 

“I-I’ll tell you what happened.”

Chan perked up some, setting his clipboard aside. That was the nicest thing about Chan. He listened. Genuinely...at least Minho hoped he did. “I’ll listen. Take your time and…” he paused, “if you need to stop. For any reason, do so. Don’t force yourself.” Minho kind of thought that was the point. To force Minho to speak about it. But he wouldn’t dwell. Maybe he’d misread Chan. 

“Okay.” He took a deep breath, adjusting himself for comfort, eyes averted from Chans piercing glare to his own hands…hand. His sleeves more so. 

——

It took ten more sessions for Minho to formulate more than broken sentences about how Jisung hit him and fed him, three more to get through uncontrollable sobs about how Hyunjin must have been dead that entire time, to this. But at least he didn’t stutter with Chan anymore. Much like with Changbin, he just didn’t stutter around this man. He was comfortable enough. 

“I can’t even...I don’t know where to start.” Minho laughed, raking bandaged fingers through his messy hair. Hair that needed to be cut. It was getting too long and of course clouding his eyes. 

“You’re getting better every time.”

Minho wondered if Chan was lying. Because after all this time, he seemed to get...worse. Not Minho, but his therapist. Chan seemed to falter more and more. He’d drink more coffee. His eyes were darker each visit. 

Something was off for sure. 

“Where should I even go today?” Minho asked, placing his fingers over the wrist that was buried in his hoodies sleeve. Eventually Minho would have to find an alternative to covering himself like this. It was nearly spring. And he was burning up in this hoodie. 

“Remember where you went near Christmas?”

Minhos breath staggered a moment as he recalled. The incident. That’s where he tried to go each time. He had avoided it ever since. Avoided that dark night. 

“I guess. I mean…” Minho rest back into the couch, “I should after all this time…”

Chan settled back into his own seat, hands clasped and eyes weary. He looked so distraught...Minho wondered if it was because of him or something personal. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Minho bit his lip, tapping his foot against the wooden floor in thought. 

He of course remembered it all. No repression could conceal what he’d gone through. Not one bit. 

“You know that he took me to the mountains.”

Chan nodded. 

“He took me out of the car and led me down some steep areas...like areas that we had no business being at that time of night at that temperature.”

Minho noticed Chan nod again, though this time his brows knit some. 

“Hyunjin.” It was probably the first time he’d said Hyunjins name. For sure. “He ended up pushing me and I landed onto Hyunjin. His uh...body.”

Minho could see the tension now. It was clear. Whatever was going on with Chan was...definitely affecting him. 

“I was...I didn’t know how to process it at first.” Minho left Chans gloomy eyes to settle back into his sleeves, “I didn’t think it was real. He had assured me that...that being there was a good thing. That I would enjoy it…” Minho rolled his eyes, gaining a sigh from the man across from him. 

“But of course...he pushed me into that hole and I just. It was immediate panic. I suddenly just...He was going to kill me.” Minho didn’t mean to laugh but...it was a mess. The whole thing. It was such a joke. How had this shit even...transpired?

He had to really take a breath. “You could kind of smell it. The foulness. But of course I couldn’t focus on that. Within a few minutes he was...hah.” Minho bit at his lip, “he shoved my face into Hyunjin. Really hard. I didn’t even...I couldn’t focus on that either though. Because…he left and when he came back he. My hand...he.”

“You don’t have to continue.” Was Minho already shaking? He couldn’t tell. But the room felt like it was shaking. 

“I-I should.” It wasn’t stuttering. He was shaking. Crying again. He could see his tears smacking his sleeves. Feel them down his cheeks. But he wanted to continue. This was irritating. He just wanted to say something. He had to. 

“Minho.” Chan was touching his thigh. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “You don’t have to.”

Minho took a moment. He was shaking so badly. He knew this now. He should stop. 

“He smashed my hand. Over and over.” Minhos brain buzzed. He felt so irritable with himself. Why was he shaking so hard? Why was everything spinning? “He didn’t stop. I asked him to stop!” Was he yelling? He didn’t mean to. “And I...I didn’t know what to do. I—they said he filmed it. Everything he. Filmed it all and I. I don’t—.”

Chan finally stopped him. He wasn’t sure how professional it was to hug your patient. But that’s what Chan was doing. He had his arms tightly around Minho, petting his hair and rocking him. He wasn’t sure if he was rocking actually, it could have just been Minho shaking. Constantly shaking. 

“You can stop.”

He didn’t like that he passed out again. It was very...He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He shouldn’t be passing out around people like this. He should have his guard up. Everything should be up. 

“Hey, Minho?”

How long had he been out. He was laying on the couch, the decorative blanket from behind settled over top of him. It was warm. 

“You okay?” Chan was settled on the couch with him, petting at his hair again. He must’ve been genuinely concerned with how Minho was. 

“Yeah.” He really wasn’t. But he didn’t want to stir anything else. He just wanted to sleep. To disappear. 

Chan inched away a moment before grabbing a cup from the small end table, holding it out to Minho. It must’ve been tea or something. He figured Chan wouldn’t try to poison him. 

“Thank you.” Minho whispered, only receiving a slight nod in reply. Chan was...wincing. For sure. Minho must’ve been causing more trouble than he imagined. Chan was so torn. And he was...he was supposed to be helping Minho. But Minho was hurting him instead. Maybe Chan just wasn’t suited for this shit.

——

“He held you?”

Minho should have left that part out. It was obviously really...unprofessional. He didn’t want Chan to seem that way at all. Chan was great. And kind. And honest, kind of. 

“Yeah...sort of.” Minho sighed happily, the feeling of Felix’s fingers combing through his hair lightening his mood. 

“It helped though, I guess, right?” Felix pouted, settling his eyes on Minho. “Him stopping you?”

“I should talk about these things. Shouldn’t I?” He whimpered softly, nuzzling into Felix’s hand now. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. I don’t want to f-freak out anymore.”

“Take your time. You said you haven’t told anyone the full story. Not even your mother.” Seungmin added, settled at the foot of the bed. 

“I...I really just want to prepare it. But…” Minho let out a shaky sigh before forcing himself to sit upright, biting at his bottom lip. 

Maybe he should tell them. 

Maybe. 

“You want to what…?” Felix had concern all over his face. 

“I want to tell him everything. Everything about that night. Everything and how awful it was and…”

Minhos breaths were wild. 

“Minho, you don’t have to—“

“No, I really should.” Minho stammered, eyes glued to his sleeves, “I should…” he slipped his sleeve up past his elbow, admiring his right hand that was still in bad enough condition. 

Felix sat up beside him, fingers pressed to Minhos knee cautiously. 

Minho did the same with his left. The bandaged stub of a wrist causing him to let out an audible whine. He hadn’t shown them yet. He hadn’t shown anyone. 

Seungmin. It was surprising. But the younger inched closer, eyes settled on the wrist that used to occupy his left hand. 

“You don’t have to do that if you’re…” Felix spoke up before getting a look from Seungmin, the blonde silencing his tongue. 

“Minho, can I touch?” 

He didn’t expect that. Not at all. Touch what? Minhos eyes studied Seungmin quietly before he managed a nod. 

He didn’t expect this. 

Seungmin used both hands, placing one underneath of Minhos bandaged wrist, it was odd. Tense. Weird. But Seungmin was trustworthy. 

“Seungmin…”

Felix got another look from Seungmin, inching close to Minhos side this time. 

“Minho, you can go ahead. We will listen.” Seungmin has the faintest smile as his other hand brushed fingertips along the bandages at Minhos wrist, very carefully settling over the bones of his wrist, thumb slowly running against them. 

It was very odd. Very...scary. But Seungmin was so comfortable. So trustworthy. 

And so. He told them. He told them so much. So much that Felix had buried himself into his shoulder. So much that Minhos neck had wet with tears. 

Seungmin had visibly tensed. And he was a tad shaky. He’d even pressed a little hard against Minhos wrist. Not too much, but enough to startle him. Seungmins discomfort was very unexpected. He hadn’t cried but Minho could tell he was definitely holding himself back. 

But Seungmin was different. He seemed so...Minho didn’t even want to think that way. 

“Minho…I’m so sorry.” 

Seungmin was saying this right after Minho told them about Changbin. About his...how his head was. How Jisung had taunted him with his head. 

Felix was sobbing too hard, clinging to Minho like a lost puppy. 

“Y-you didn’t do anything. Don’t apologize…”

Seungmin just nodded, keeping his eyes on Minhos wrist. He looked so...defeated. Minho has never seen Seungmin so emotional. He wasn’t crying but fuck...was he going to? Minho didn’t want that in a way. Felix crying was normal. He expected it. Especially since he’d overheard Felix cry over Minhos situation to Seungmin ages ago when he’d spent the night. 

“Someone has to…” Seungmins voice cracked. And even Felix looked up from Minhos warmth. 

Seungmin must have never cried over this. Felix looked concerned. 

Minho was concerned. 

Kim Seungmin was crying. He released Minhos arm, hands at the bed as he kept his head low, the slightest shaky sobs escaping his lips. 

“I should have...I should have known.”

Minho had never expected this. Seungmin was so enclosed emotionally. He was open about everything else but he was so reserved and secretive about his emotions. This was so weird to see. Minho didn’t want him to blame himself. Or think he had to apologize at all. 

He leaned forward, embracing Seungmin loosely. He figured the younger needed it right now. Definitely. 

Seungmin was so tense, keeping himself from hugging Minho back as much as he could. 

But that was okay. 

Still, something seemed off about it. His behaviour. But Minho had to ignore that. Not dwell on whatever Seungmin was actually upset about. 

——

“How are you feeling today, Minho?”

Chan looked awful. Like he still held this professional demeanor and he was dressed nicely, smelled fine. But his eyes. There was an interesting gloss over them. And the bags under his eyes...were so prominent. Like he was in a constant state of sadness. He’d looked that way for the last few of their sessions. Tired and weary. Disgruntled. Like Minho had originally thought, maybe it was too much for Chan. He was a professional, but how much was too much? 

“Minho?”

“I’m fine. I’m okay.” Minho blurted, brushing his sleeves over the holes of his pants. In all honesty, he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt. 

Chan was so tense. 

“Have you been sleeping?” Minho had to ask. 

Chan didn’t expect Minho to ask that. His expression altered, eyes blinking in confusion, “have I been sleeping?”

“Yes,” Minho let out a deep sigh, eyes focusing on Chans, “you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

“I have been.” Chan replied, eyes falling away from Minhos, “I’ve just been having some personal struggles of my own. It’s not a big deal.”

He was too tense. 

“Is it because of me?”

He was even more tense. Minho had his answer. 

“We shouldn’t talk about it today, should we?” Minho forced a laugh, biting at his bottom lip, “we can talk about something else.”

“Minho—“

“No, really.” Minho cleared his throat, sitting himself upright, “can we take a day? It won’t make a difference.”

Chan settled his notepad down, sitting back into the chair, arms crossed, “is that what you want?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to.” Minho laughed a little more freely, focusing his eyes on Chans tired ones, “we can talk about...anything.”

It was weird, obviously. Chan wasn’t that responsive to Minhos questions about his life. Chan seemed more interested in figuring out Minho. It made sense, that’s what he was getting paid for. Not to be Minhos friend. 

“You haven’t thought about camming since?” Though Chan had avoided talking about Minho camming beyond why he did it, he seemed very interested now. 

“Not really. I’m living at home mostly. I spend most nights with some new friends, but I don’t...it’s not like I’m ever alone anymore.” Minho eyed Chan closely. 

“You used it to relieve stress right? You felt powerful doing it?”

Chan had asked this before. 

“Yes. You know that.” Minho frowned, gazing down at his sleeves. Chan was slipping. Chan was clearly slipping. 

“Oh, I forgot. Yeah. We talked about that. I’m sorry.”

Slipping. 

“Do you want to go get lunch?”

Minho was surprised that he asked Chan such a random question. Where did that boldness come from?

“Lunch?” Chan seemed confused, eyebrows knit in surprise. 

“Yeah, lunch. It would be nice. I can pay for it.” Minho laughed, tucking hair behind his ear with his index that had gotten better with time. Not good enough to use fully, but good enough. 

——

Somehow they ended up at a tiny restaurant. Small and busy, yet cozy. Chan had thankfully been helping Minho eat. It was nearly impossible to use chopsticks still. It had been too long since he had ramen. So long. 

“What made you want to go out and eat?” Chan asked, helping Minho take another bite of the hot noodles, “I should be more worried about you.”

“You looked miserable.” Minho laughed as he swallowed his food down, sleeve at his mouth, “I can tell you’re not sleeping.”

“I’m the therapist.” Chan added, helping Minho with yet another bite. 

Yeah, he was the therapist. But right now he was just Chan. And Minho wasn’t a patient. He was just Minho. They weren’t in a setting where Minho felt pressure. He actually felt relieved for once. So relieved that he was there with Chan. Just eating. Being normal. Yeah, he got this from Seungmin and Felix. But it was nice having it from someone who was completely focused on him for once. 

“What about me is making it so hard for you?” Minho asked, crossing his arms at the table, noting how Chans eyes darted from his sleeves to his eyes, “it’s not just the case, right?”

“I don’t want to cause you any anxiety. Especially outside of therapy.” Chan frowned, placing the chopsticks against the bowl, “you’re talking about some things, Which is great. But it’s just—“

“A lot.” Minho laughed, looking down to his sleeves, “I was supposed to tell you everything today, you know?”

Chan tensed. 

“Everything. Like...I told my friends everything last night. Everything up to Changbin…” the man’s name stung a bit. Not as much as the other man. The bad one. But it still hurt. “They took it well enough I guess.”

“That’s good. That you were able to tell them.” Chans hand was shaky as he wrapped noodles around his own chopsticks, “you could have talked about it today.”

“I didn’t think you could handle it.” Minho sighed, slipping his bandaged hand from his sleeve to pick out a single noodle, laying it against his tongue. Ah. “You can’t even handle seeing my hands, how are you going to handle the rest of the story?”

Chan was visibly distressed. He let his chopsticks fall again and he was gazing down at the table. Like he was hurt. 

“That’s what it is, right? It’s too much. Even for you?”

“No.” Chan winced, soft eyes looking into Minhos own, “Maybe. It hurts to hear.”

Minho let his sleeve fall back over his hand, eyeing Chan carefully, “if it’s too much maybe we should stop this. I’m just making things hard for you. I’m not...I know I’m not better or whatever but I have my friends. And my mom and I’m okay—“

“Minho…” Chan was staring right at him now, eyes filled with another kind of sorrow that Minho hadn’t witnessed yet, “it hurts to hear because it just seems so unbelievable. So twisted and...how could anyone ever hurt you?”

Minho was tense this time, fingers clenching slightly from the discomfort. 

“How could anyone...i'm supposed to be professional and handle this but...I cannot understand why anyone would ever hurt you. How anyone could take you and…do those awful things to you.”

Minho bit his bottom lip, eyes struggling to focus on the man in front of him. 

“You didn’t deserve any of that...nothing that happened to you.”

He knew that. 

“I know.” He whispered, releasing a long sigh from his nose, “I know that.”

“I want to help you get through it. I really do. I’m just...I’m getting too—“

“Overwhelmed?” Minho laughed under his breath. Was his therapist growing too close to him? Was this really too much? Would he have to find someone else. 

“Attached.” Chan reached his hand over the table, resting his fingers over one of Minhos sleeves. Thankfully it wasn’t...that arm. “Minho, I usually don’t get so attached. And it’s...I keep looking at things and diving into your case and...I seriously cannot wrap my head around this.”

“Why did you take my case, Chan?”

“The challenge at first.” Minho understood. It made sense. He was a therapist. He probably knew taking in Minho would boost his career or whatever. But it still stung to hear. “And then...as you opened up more and more I just couldn’t stop thinking about things. Everything. Your story it—“

Chans fingers wrapped around Minhos wrist, tense and shaky. 

“I become so obsessed with it. Obsessed with how that vile person could do those things to anyone, let alone you. It’s kept me up at night. I’ve been restless and I’ve been taking so much medication and…” Chan looked at him, eyes softer than he’d ever seen them, “I’m being very unprofessional.”

Chans hand slipped away, the cold feeling and lack of warmth causing Minho to grab it back, fingers painfully wrapped around Chans. 

“We’re not there right now. I’m not your patient right now.” Minho sputtered, eyes settling at Chans, “we’re friends. You're my friend right now. Friends.” 

“It’s just—“

“No no no!” Minho laughed, squeezing Chans fingers the best he could, “enough. What’s your favorite color, Chan?”

Minho wasn’t sure where he was going with that. But it had calmed Chan considerably. So much to the point the two were drinking together, Minho sipping from a straw as Chan gulped down hefty swigs. 

They decided to talk about other things. Minho had changed the subject well, and Chan even laughed. They were both fine. Happy. Okay. 

It was okay. 

——

Or maybe it was like. Weird. They’d had too much to drink. Obviously. Chan more so than him. Minho hadn’t been buzzed in a long time. The one time he got drunk with Felix he almost stuck his tongue down the other's throat. It had been a mess. Minho wasn’t quite that bad this time. But shit, he couldn’t help but stumble down the hall with Chan beside him, arm tossed around Minhos shoulder. 

He was a mess. 

“Your favorite color is mint?” Chan laughed out, only make it harder to steady them, “that’s so precious.”

“Yup. We talked about how cute it was for an hour, Chan.” Minho smirked back, checking the number at Chans house key once more. 218. Close. 

“It fits you. Because you’re just so precious. It’s a precious color.” 

Minho couldn’t stifle his laugh as he reached Chans door, helping the man rest against the wall as he used his hand to turn the key. It took him some time to turn, hand shooting with pain as he did, but it wasn’t the worst pain he’d felt. He’d manage. 

“Thanks for...everything. Tonight was nice. I’m sorry I’m….me.” Chan rest his head back, eyes half lidded and full of sleep. 

“It’s fine. Now I know you can’t hold liquor for shit.” Minho replied, pushing open the door and grabbing onto Chan again, helping him inside. 

He shut the door behind him with his foot, dragging Chan over to the grey sofa that sat facing a large window. Damn. That window was huge. 

“Your apartment is really nice.” Minho spoke as he helped sit Chan down against the sofa, the elder resting his head against the cushion. 

“Yeah...it’s okay.”

“I should probably go then. I told the driver to wait—“

“No no no!” Chan whined, reaching out, hand gripping the hem of Minhos sweater. “You shouldn’t go home. This late. It’s too late.”

Minho laughed again, patting Chans hand down with his sleeve, “I’ll be fine. My friends aren’t too far from he—“

“What if something happens to you? I’d die.” 

Minhos heart might have broke. The longing, concerned gloss in Chans eyes. He was so worried. Genuinely terrified of Minho to leave. He could see it all over his face. 

“Chan...I’ll be okay.”

“What if someone tries to hurt you? You shouldn’t go by yourself. It’s so late...” he trailed off, head lolling to the side as he watched Minhos every move. “It’s okay to...stay.”

Minho took a deep breath, moving himself to sit beside Chan, the elders eyes following him as he settled into the cushions. They were so comfy. 

“I’ll stay till you fall asleep. Is that okay?”

“No, don’t go. It’s not safe.” Chan frowned, eyes struggling to stay open, “just stay.”

He shouldn’t. He knew Chan was concerned. But he shouldn’t stay. It wasn’t good for either of them. 

“Just for a bit.”

“Minho...promise you won’t go. I’m so worried someone is gonna take you…”

Minho knew the likelihood of that ever happening again...was slim. He’d literally spent an entire night by himself after the hospital. Though he was in a crowded market...he’d been alone. And nobody had bothered him. Nobody would mess with him. Chan was being paranoid. 

It was making him paranoid, though. What if he left and got jumped? What if he got kidnapped by their creepy cab driver. What if—Minho pouted, resting his head into Chans couch comfortably,

“Fine.”

Minho could hear the tiniest yay, Chans eyes falling shut completely. It was stupid cute. 

Minho sighed, pulling himself up then, “okay come on. To bed.” He added, slapping his sleeve gently against Chans shoulder. 

“Sleep here…” the elder trailed. 

“Nope. Bed. Come on.” 

Chan let out an uncharacteristic whine before pulling himself up, wobbling until Minho grabbed a hold of him again, “down the hall. Last door.” 

He sounded disappointed. But that was fine. He was drunk and sleepy. He needed rest. Judging by the bags under his eyes, Minho wasn’t sure Chan had seen his bed in awhile. 

The room was cozy. Chan had left his light on, and there were papers everywhere. A cozy mess. It reminded Minho of his old apartment...he missed his apartment. 

As they approached the bed Minho tugged the sheets up with his good hand, trying not to freak out over the weight of the covers. It stung. He really had to be more considerate of himself. 

“Okay, in.” Minho spoke, helping the man under the covers. Thankfully, he slid right in, kicking his shoes to the ground and rolling to his side. 

Minho couldn’t help but laugh, pulling the sheet back up with Chans help, “thanks.”

Minho wasn’t sure if the ‘thanks’ was genuine. “No problem, Chan.” But he’d let it pass. Chan was obviously very groggy. He needed lots of rest. 

“I’ll take the co—,”

Chan immediately wrapped his hand around Minhos wrist again. The only comfort was which wrist he grabbed. 

“It’s not comfy.”

Minho snickered, leaning down to look Chan in his tired eyes, “it was pretty comfy.”

“You can sleep over there. It’s big.” Chan sighed, nodding to the other side of the bed. 

This was tempting. But something inside Minho told him that it was probably a terrible idea. Cuddling up with your therapist wasn’t good. Not at all. 

“It’s really okay. The couch is fine.”

“Minho…” Chans voice was getting more quiet by the seconds, “I insist. It’s comfy. Warm. I won’t...I’m not going to do anything.”

Minho knew that. 

“Fine. But you better sleep. I’ll stay up until you do.” Minho shook his head with a stupid grin, Chan helping him pull the sheet down once more. 

He was used to sleeping in someone’s bed. Used to waking up with Felix sprawled over him. Used to Seungmin nuzzling into his back. It was normal. Sleeping in his friend's bed. Chan wasn’t all that different. The only difference was the...professionalism thing. Chan was literally his therapist. 

“Thank you...for staying.” Chan sigh, turning so he was facing away from Minho, “it’s safe this way.”

Minho sighed, eyes staring holes into the back of Chans head, “I would have been okay. Really…”

“Just wanna keep you safe.”

Minho frowned. Chan sounded so defeated. So tired. He’d pass out within seconds—milliseconds? 

Chan quieted down almost immediately, breaths barely audible now. 

That didn’t take long. 

Minho sighed, turning out the light that must’ve ran Chans bill up. 

It was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

Minho frowned, taking out his phone from his pocket. At times like this, he wished he could text. He’d text Felix that he was safe and sound but — his hands didn’t work that way anymore.Texting took too long. 

He had to call. 

“Please stay asleep,” Minho whispered, sliding himself out of the warmth of Chans sheets, content the elder had not stirred, “thank you!”

He rushed out of the room as quietly as possible, leaving the door cracked as he sat down in the hallway, back against the wall, close to Chans bedroom door. Enough so he could hear if the therapist got up. 

“Hey Felix—no no I’m fine.”

Immediate panic on the other line. Felix always worried about him. Even if it was over nothing. 

“No, I’m really okay.” He laughed, trying to keep his voice low, “I’m with another friend—no you know them. Kind of. You met once I think? Yeah. Yes.” Felix was running on and on. Worry in the younger man’s voice. “Felix, I’m fine. If I could manage to move my thumb I’d take a photo.” 

Minho laughed again at his own words, shimmying his sleeve down to expose the bandaged wrist. He didn’t even need the bandages anymore. They were more comfort than anything. And he did hate to see that stubby part of him where his hand should have been. His good hand. The hand that had made it through two awful deliveries from that terrible —

“I’m good. It’s Chan.”

Felix squealed like a child. 

“Your hot therapist?! Lee Minho!”

Felix was so loud, Minho had to pull the phone from his ear, “Jesus Felix. Don’t yell!”

“I’m sorry but wow that’s so sweet! What are you two doing? Also minho, when will you video chat me? It’s literally not that hard.”

Minho shook his head, covering the stubby wrist as he brought his knees up to his chest, “I hate video chatting. Plus it would be too loud. Chan is asleep.”

“Oh!?” 

Felix. 

“He just drank a lot. He’s exhausted. Nothing happened, dumb-dumb.” Minho couldn’t fight the tiny smile that started at his lips, “he’s just really nice and wanted me to stay so I didn’t get hurt or anything.”

Felix let out a long ‘awww’ that made Minho roll his eyes. “I would say get his number but, you’re beyond that, huh? You talk about him like he’s really sweet. I know I’ve been a little irritable by his methods but, that’s so cute. He really cares about you it seems.”

He really did. 

Minho frowned now, thoughts racing. Chan cared about him. It was obvious. He really liked Minho. He liked Minho to the point he was emotionally distraught over him. It kind of...it made Minho sad. 

Chan was hurt because of him. 

“Minho?”

Minho blinked, eyes struggling to focus, “I’m going to get some sleep now. Let Seungmin know I’ll be by in the morning. If that’s okay.”

“It’s always okay, Minho!” Felix chimed back. 

They were cute. 

Everyone was so cute. So sweet to him. 

It hurt. 

As Minho crawled back into the bed he pulled his sweater off, glad he had a t shirt underneath. It was so hot in Chans room. Comfortably so, but too hot for his sweater. His pants. Those had to go too. It would hurt to take them off, but it was hot. 

He wouldn’t bother Chan about his unnecessary layers. He’d be okay, he hoped. It was hot, but Chan must’ve been used to it, right?

He really hoped Chan didn’t peak at his hands. He didn’t want him to be...uncomfy. 

Maybe he should put his sweater back on. 

Minho sat himself up, rubbing at his temple with the back of his hand, his bandages wrist settled underneath the covers. 

Why couldn’t he just sleep? Just stop thinking. 

He had to stop thinking. 

He needed sleep. He should sleep. 

Just sleep, Minho. 

——

What time was it? It felt late. Like late in the morning kind of late. He wasn’t sure what time they’d gotten to Chans place, but it was...very sunny. Despite the blinds in Chans room, super bright. 

It would have been nicer if Minhos head wasn’t spinning so much. He must’ve had more to drink than he’d thought. Too many sweet drinks. His body was obviously not taking them too well. 

He raised his head up, feeling hair sticking to his face from the sweat. Ugh. He wanted to avoid sweating. But it must’ve just been that hot in the room. 

Chan wasn’t there either. 

Minho thought that was fine. He could get up, slide his sweater back on and — 

No. 

Minho raised his head, scanning the ground for the discarded garment. Oh no. It wasn’t there. Neither were his pants. No no no. 

He needed his sweater. His sweater especially. He needed it. He needed it. 

“Minho?”

No no. 

He shoved his wrist under the pillow, panic setting in. No no no. 

“You’re awake. Good morning…” Chans voice was raspy, yet still so soft. “I’m so sorry about last night.”

“W-Where—“ his voice. No. He wasn’t supposed to stutter with Chan. He’d gotten passed that. Right!?

“Your clothes?” Chan asked, coming into Minhos view as he tilted his head some, fingers trembling as the elder approached, “I put them into the wash. They’re almost done. I should have mentioned it last night but I was...you spilled some of your drink on your sweater. So I just wanted to wash it before it stained.”

Minho felt hot. Hotter than he had during the night. He was shaking. 

“Are you okay, Minho?”

No. He wasn’t. He felt exposed. Despite being covered in the blanket, he needed his sweater. He needed to hide his hands—his hand. He had to hide his hand. And his wrist. He needed to hide them. 

Chan frowned, keeping his distance before going to the closet off to the side, “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

Don’t apologize. 

“I have some long sleeved shirts if you want one? They’d probably fit you fine.”

Minho must’ve been so obvious. Panicking about his...arms. Panicking. 

“Ah, I have this oversized sweatshirt. It’s huge so...it’ll definitely cover everything you need covered.”

Minho nodded, eyes not able to fixate on the other male at all. 

“Just stay calm, “ Chan suggested, placing a large black sweatshirt at the bed. It was big. It would cover everything. That would be fine. 

“Want me to go outside?”

Minho nodded again. Probably a little too frantically. It wasn’t that...he knew Chan had kind of seen them before. But he knew...he knew Chan wouldn’t react well. He couldn’t stress Chan again. He didn’t want to do that again. 

Chan left quickly. Leaving Minho to scramble out of the bed to shove the sweater over his head.

It was too big. 

Of course it was. It was oversized on Chan. It swallowed Minho, hanging off his shoulder. But his arms. At least they were covered. 

The panic was settling after a few moments. His breath was normal again. He could focus. He could think. 

There were gentle taps at the door, “Are you okay, Minho?”

He wasn’t. In a way. 

“Y-Yeah I’m okay.” Shit. The stuttering. He didn’t want to stutter. Not with Chan. Not now. 

“Can I come in?”

Minho hadn’t pulled the pants on yet. But pants. Who cared about those right now. As long as his arms were covered. It didn’t matter. 

“Yeah.” Minho was trying his hardest to calm. To focus his eyes as Chan opened the door again. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” Chan started. 

He was dressed differently, he must have showered, his hair was drying. It was so wavy. He didn’t expect it to be wavy. 

“Did you want to shower at all? Or I can take you home. My heads alright and...I had coffee to wake myself up. It’s noon.”

Noon. He’d slept until noon?

“I…” Minho couldn’t form words. Shit. He hadn’t recovered from his ridiculous anxiety. 

Chans expression was soft as he approached Minhos side of the bed, taking a seat far enough from him, “I’m so sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have had that much. I shouldn’t have allowed you to bring me home and...I shouldn’t have forced you to stay.”

Chan was. He was being sweet and apologetic for no reason. 

“D-Don’t apologize.” It was getting better. His words. “You were drunk. I wasn’t letting you go home alone. It’s not a big—I’m fine.” He stammered, clearing his throat as he sat himself up more, patting at his sweaty cheek. 

“Okay. I won't but…” Chan stopped, offering a tiny smile instead, “what would you like, Minho?”

What did Minho want? A lot. 

“Can I shower?”

Why. He should have just went home. He was sure Felix was worried or whatever. 

“Yeah! I’ll turn the water on for you. Are you—you don’t need me to stay, right?” Chan pulled himself off of the bed, hands shoved into the seemingly deep pockets of his sweatpants. 

Minho took a moment to get up, knees buckling. He felt so tired. So, he wasn’t sure. 

“I’m sorry I panicked. I….” he was still panicking.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

“No, I. I shouldn’t be scared. I shouldn’t be scared to show you.” Minho was breathing a little better, still tense. “Actually…” It wasn’t that he was scared. He knew that Chan was. “I don’t want to scare you.”

That was it, right? The cause of his panic. 

“Minho…”

“I don’t want to scare you.” Minho clutched the blanket before pulling himself up, releasing a heavy sigh. “You flinch when you see the slightest glimpse. And...I don’t want you to run away.”

Chans eyes were full of remorse. He didn’t want that. 

“I just—I don’t want you more uncomfortable than you already are.” 

“Minho, I’m not.”

“It’s fine to be. It’s fine.”

“I’m not.”

Chan got closer, keeping his hands to himself thankfully, “Lets go get you washed up, okay? You just need water and—“

“Yeah. Just water.”

Fuck. 

Minho was stupid. To even shower here. To even attempt showering properly. He had one useful hand. One. And he had to take so many fucking wraps off of one arm for now. He didn’t want to have to see that stupid stub at his wrist where he hand used to be right now. This sucked. Why did he want to shower? What if Chan didn’t have pump bottles? 

Fuck. 

“Minho, you need me to do anything else?” Chan asked, hand underneath the stream of water. His water pressure was so nice. Steady. 

“Um….” he needed so fucking much. This sucked. “I hate to ask but. Can you…” Minho let out a soft whine, fingers tangling into his hair, “it’s really hard to—I always ask Felix. I shouldn’t even bother but it was so hot last night that—“

“Want me to help with your hair?”

“Yeah…”

“Sure.” Chan reached up, taking the showerhead from its place, “come on the waters warm. You can just lean over if it’s more comfortable for you.”

Minho took a moment to process before doing as he was told, getting onto his knees and leaning over the tub. He kept his arms clasped tight against his chest. He did this all the time. Why was it so different with him? 

“Let me know if the waters too hot.”

It was fine. Really fine. The stream calmed Minho considerably, maybe he’d even pass out from how comfortable it was. 

“How is it?” Chan laughed, hands brushing through Minhos hair. It felt nice. Felix was usually really fast and tried not to touch Minho as much as possible. Seungmin was the opposite. He always seemed to caress Minhos scalp, usually causing Minho to lose track of time and fall asleep. Seungmin had a weird magic touch. Chan, he was different too. He was touching Minhos hair a lot, scratching gently against his scalp as he shampooed and conditioned after. 

He was steady. A good mix of Felix and Seungmin, he thought. He didn’t take as much care as Seungmin, but he was definitely doing his best. It felt nice, too. 

“Want me to let you shower in peace now?” Chan asked, helping Minho off of the floor. He was awfully tired. 

“That’s fine.” He offered a weak nod, eyes struggling to stay open. He was so tired. 

“You sure you can make it?” Chans palm was at his cheek. Just resting there. Minho wasn’t sure when he’d touched his cheek. When did he do that? “If I leave you won't fall over, right?” 

His thumb. His thumb was at his cheek. It felt so nice. It felt so nice. 

Minho was too tired. Too comfortable. He didn’t want Chan to leave him alone with his tiredness. It would lead him to his stupid thoughts. He’d rather just be here. 

“Minho?” Chan was laughing. His other hand was at his shoulder now. Was Minho seriously that tired? 

“Hmm?”

“Maybe you should just get more sleep.”

“I just washed my hair.” Minho complained, reaching for his waistline, “I’m fine. I can manage.”

“You sure?” Chans thumb was moving. It felt so comfortable. 

——

Minho didn't remember answering. Probably because he never did. He woke up to the sun at his face. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, but it was bright. Really bright. 

Oh he was on the couch. The big window. It was so pretty, the sun. Really pretty. 

“Hey, you awake now?” Chan. He was laughing so thankfully he wasn’t upset. “You kinda passed out so I figured you needed more sleep. We got in really late last night.”

Minho sat up, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. Ah, he should shower properly. And probably go home. 

“I’m sorry for passing out. I guess I was just tired.” Minho sighed, sitting up to look out the window. It was so nice. “I should go.”

“Did you want to eat before you go?”

Fuck. 

“No, I’ll be okay. My friends are probably—“

“One called. Your phone kept blowing up last night so I picked up…I didn’t want to overstep, but it was going off a lot.”

“Oh? Felix—“

“Seungmin. He said he was worried you hadn’t called and I told him you were just tired from last night. He seemed skeptical but I told him who I was.”

“He’s overprotective.” Minho laughed, pulling himself up from the couch, “Ah...thank you for letting me sleep here. You didn’t have to.”

“I know...I was. I was really out of it last night. I’m sorry if I forced you to stay.” Chan frowned, taking fingers through his hair, “I can drive you back if you’d like? It’s my day off, so I have nowhere to be.”

Minho wasn’t sure. As much as he’d love to be driven back, he felt like he definitely overstayed. 

“I can call a cab.”

“Oh, okay.” Chan bit his lip now, eyes focused closely on Minho. “Are you sure?” 

Fuck. No he wasn’t sure. 

Chans car smelled like apples. Probably from the freshener. It was nice. Definitely nice. Calming. Minho liked apples. Who didn’t? 

“You sleepy again?” Chan asked, stopping at a red light. “You’re allowed to sleep.” 

Minho was leaning against the window, eyes falling between slumber and the bright rays of the sun smacking his cheeks. He just murmured. He wasn’t sure what he’d said, but something about not being sleet maybe? He wasn’t sure. 

“Are your friends home right now?” Chan asked, tapping the steering wheel. 

Chans music taste differed from that persons. Chan liked ballads. Korean ballads. That monster was more of an alternative American kind of person. It was a nice change, though. 

“Minho?”

He whined against the window, arms tight across his chest, “I think so.”

——

Minho didn’t remember much else. He woke up in Felix’s room, the sound of off tempo whistling filling his ears. 

“Morning sleepy head!” 

Minho pouted, pulling himself up from the sheets. It wasn’t light out anymore. 

“Your...therapist brought you back.” Felix eyed him cautiously, “you worried me. I thought you’d be back way earlier. You slept all day.” Felix laughed then, eyes beaming down to him. 

“I’m sorry.” Minho fake whined, Felix’s hand making its way to gently pat his hair. 

“You better be!” Felix laughed again, “so, Chan.”

Minho was way too tired for this. 

“What about him?” He whined, curling into a ball. 

“I got a good look at him this time. Your therapist looks really young.” Felix started, “He’s got soft eyes despite the bags.”

It was that noticeable? 

“He’s cute.”

Minho pouted, “He’s okay.”

“He’s so soft looking. And he seemed to be really concerned about you sleeping so much.” Felix moved, laying himself down to face Minho, “he seems like an okay guy.”

“I like him.”

“Oooh!”

“Felix, not too loud.” Minho laughed, shielding his ears with the pillow that rest underneath his head, “I like him as my therapist.”

“Sure you do!” Felix was nearly cackling. 

Felix. Fucking Felix. 

——

“Minho, he wants you to quit, right?” 

Minho rolled his eyes, fingers holding the pen between his fingers as he exhaled the minty flavor. “He says it’s a bad way to cope.” 

“Yeah, smoking isn’t the answer.” Felix just laughed, cigarette between his lips, “not for you, anyways. I shouldn’t have bought that for you.”

“It’s nice, I like it.” Minho pouted, taking the device between his fingers, blowing out smoke into Felix’s direction, “before you guys...before Ji—before him. I drank a lot. I think this is better.”

Felix shot him a pained look for some reason, “you need change.”

Minho didn’t expect Felix to yank the device from Minhos fingers, pocketing it quickly as he smashed his cigarette against the brick wall behind them. 

“Felix…” Minho pouted, watching the blonde staring back at him. 

“We should dye your hair.”

Minho squinted his eyes this time, “dye my hair?”

“Yeah, change. I’ll dye mine too.”

“Felix, why would we—“

“Change.”

Felix. Felix was special. Random, and special. 

——

“It suits you.”

Days. Days of waiting to come back. Days of wondering if Chan was alright. 

“Thanks.” Minho huffed, reaching his fingers up to brush through the ashy color Felix had decided for him. He’d never dyed his hair before. This was new. Weird. Minho wasn’t sure how he felt yet. 

“So...how are you doing?”

Minho was annoyed by the question for some reason. Sick of that question. 

“Chan, should I just tell you.”

“Tell me…” Chan didn’t look as tired. He was refreshed. Eyes bright. He wasn’t that bad. He should tell Chan. “...you want to tell me about it?”

“I think so? You seem better. Refreshed.”

“I was probably having an off day. You could have told me—“

“You kept asking about camming.” Minho spat, “you were repeating yourself. You weren’t there. That’s why we went out. To heal you I guess.” Minho stared at his sleeves, “I just, I think I should take Felix’s advice and just talk about it. Seungmin almost changed my mind. He was...he broke down at Changbin’s gravesite and I don’t know what a lot of what he was upset about meant but, I need to talk about this. I can’t wait anymore. Everyone is losing their minds and I just need to deal with it.”

“You don’t have to deal with anything. Breathe.” Chan smiled. Yeah, he looked a lot better in just the last few days. Did he just need that break with Minho? The one night out? “Why did he break down?”

“He said he felt guilty.” Minho shook his head a moment before swallowing, “he felt guilty that he knew him and didn’t notice he was a monster.”

That’s what he’d said anyways. Minho had broken down at Changbin’s grave, sobbing over a placard on a tree. He’d felt so guilty the other day. So guilty. Minho was just as guilty, if not more. He could have prevented his friends demise. 

“We calmed down though. I got him to eat and he was okay when he got to Felix.”

“Was he?” Chan asked, “Are you?”

Minho took a deep breath, slightly annoyed by the question, “I’m as good as I’m going to be. I should just, where do I start? Where did I leave off…”

Chan adjusted himself, “your hands. You stopped at your hands.”

Minho winced. Ah. The hands. That was honestly…of all the shit he’d been through, that was the thing that hurt the most. That from that monster smashing his hands with blunt force objects, he’d lost one. A whole fucking hand. It was so much worse than the abuse, the torture. Nothing really compared to losing his hand. Not even the ra—

“Minho…” 

Chan was tensing. Minho didn’t want him to be so tense. So scared. He just wanted to finish. To move on. 

“I told Seungmin and Felix everything. I told them all the way up to Changbin, I remember that. I told them about my hands and how my face was all messed up from being smashed into Hyunjin and…” Minho took a deep breath, “I told them what happened when I was waking up and then when he carried me off to his car.”

Chan swallowed, eyes growing more concerned. Shit. Of course they were. 

“I’ve told you snippets. I know that much. I don’t think the hand things necessary. After. After makes more sense I guess. Changbin.” Minho looked to Chan, squinting a moment before adjusting in the seat. 

Was this even a good idea? He literally talked about this the other day. He didn’t want to go into anymore detail about what Jisung did leading up to Changbin. That part he wanted to bury. Telling Seungmin and Felix has been enough. It wasn’t worth mentioning again. But this? The…

“He brought him in the car with us. When I passed out—or drugged I guess. Changbin was there. In the trunk the whole time. And he was alive.” Minho started, eyes darting away quickly to stare at his sleeves, “he was alive while I was blacked out in that hole.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Not only is there...video proof of it that I refused to watch, he told me. He made it very clear.” Minho swallowed. 

Jisung. 

“Jisung made it really fucking clear that he was alive. Like it was my fault.” Minhos eyes met Chans as he spoke. The mere mention of Jisungs name seemed to startle the elder, “He was mocking it. He told me that Changbin had been worrying about me the entire time.”

“To hurt you more, right?”

“Of course.” Minho laughed. It wasn’t funny. But again, the entire situation was insane. “He showed me his.” Minho pointed to his face with a sad sigh, “and I don’t remember much but he like...he must have dropped his,” again he pointed to his own head, “I remember vomiting. And it felt so awful. And it stung my throat.” 

Chan was stiff, nodding slowly as Minho spoke. He was listening. But of course this was affecting him. 

“I looked down before I puked my guts out. I was leaning on my hands—“ Minho took the deepest breath he could as he slipped his hand from his sleeve, wiggling the sleeve down his forearm. “I could see what he’d done. To the fullest extent I could see.” His fingers hovered over his sleeve. “He just...he wasn’t really a person at all, was he?” Minho laughed, tugging his sleeve up. 

He was used to it by now. The sight of the bandage-wrapped stub. Honestly, he didn’t need these many bandages anymore. Most of the skin was healed over. The stitches had been taken out and he—he should have been able to accept it by now. At least, that it was healed. Even if it wasn’t. 

“He smashed my hand so badly—“ Minho looked to Chan again, “I don’t want to go into a lot of details but. That’s where...I think I lost it. Seeing my hand all messed up and I…” Minho shuddered in disgust, “I was leaning on bone. And it stung so bad. Everything was stinging but that just—it was a lot.” 

Chans eyes were at his wrist. 

“He pulled me up.” Minho picked at one of the ends of bandages around the flesh, “made jokes about Changbin. Tried to like...comfort me.” Ah. Jisung. He hated thinking about this. Because all the rage came back. Minho knew his jaw was tight. 

“I tackled him. I don’t know how my body found that energy but suddenly I just wanted to kill him. Shut him up. Making sick necro jokes with me. Joked how we’d cam after this. He made it seem like after all of that I was going to just go home and act normal. Like a submissive slave.” Minho twitched, “I wanted to kill him.”

“Is this where it happened? When you passed out again and Jisung jumped?”

Passed out. Jumped. 

Jumped was interesting. 

“Sure. He jumped.” Minho laughed, “he jumped after managing to put me in the car with what, his blood all over the backseat, and somehow ended up miles away. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Minho hadn’t told anyone. He didn’t tell the police. He didn’t tell Felix. He didn’t tell Seungmin. He hadn’t told his mom. 

“They weren’t sure how he got there but...he must’ve felt guilt and jumped, right?”

Minhos mouth twisted into a grin. An unsettling feeling washed over him. 

Jisung fell. Minho watched him fall. 

He laughed. Minho was laughing, pulling bandages from his wrist, “he didn’t fucking jump.”

He didn’t look for Chans reaction, he was too focused on ripping bandages from his wrist. 

“Jisung didn’t jump. He fell. I kicked him and he fell off the edge of the fucking rail.”

“What are you talking—“

“AND he was all broken up down below. In the rocks he looked like absolute shit.” Minho laughed again, ripping the final bandage. 

Ah. His wrist. The wrist littered in little burns. His little burns. 

It helped. The E cig Felix had gotten for him. But once his hand was able, he switched. Started stealing Felix’s cigarettes. Helped mark his wrist up in burns. Burns he had to hide. Things he had to hide away. He’d been good. It had been weeks. But they were still there. 

“Jisung fell. Right by the car. There’s no way that he...there’s no way he put me into the car. That blood in the backseat was his. It was all his. So how? And...it doesn’t make sense. The blood wasn’t there before. The car was turned on. I couldn’t do that with my hands. Changbin’s head was in the trunk and it was closed. I didn’t do that.” Minho paused, “don’t say anything about the marks. Don’t or I’ll leave.” He clarified. 

“Minho…” Chans hand was in view, he was hesitant but his hand cupped over Minhos, he didn’t seem to want to touch his stubbed wrist at all. “I—Who else was there?” 

The most haunting thing about everything. After the trauma from his hands, was how Jisung had ended up miles away. How they found his frozen corpse so long after. Far from where they were. It didn’t add up. 

“Someone else was there and I can’t wrap my head around anything. I just know someone was there. I woke up for a few seconds and it was just lights out again. Someone was there with us and they put me in the car and wrapped my arm and I just—“ 

He was breathing too hard. He wanted to stay calm. He wanted to breathe normally. 

“Who the fuck was there?”

Minho was shaking. But he wasn’t. Was he losing it? He didn’t think he was. He was just angry. Upset. 

He stared at his wrist, moving his hand from Chans to graze along the meticulous burns on his skin, “it bothers me. That the news made it seem like Jisung felt guilty.”

“He wasn't, was he?” Chans voice was shaky, “someone else was there. They...you think they moved him?”

“The police are stupid. The backseat was covered in his blood and sweat. Something happened and they just buried it.”

“Did you mention it to anyone?”

“I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything. Anytime the police came to me I froze. I was in the hospital for months just…I couldn’t breathe. And part of me thought that maybe he was still alive.”

“Minho, is it okay if I sit next to you?” Chan asked, voice not getting any better. 

Minho nodded, staring at the circular marks, “I don’t even know why I did this to myself.” 

Chan quickly sat beside him, thighs touching slightly, “you're trying to cope, Minho.”

“I haven’t in weeks. I promise.” Minho choked back the emotion, eyes settled, “I’ve been doing better. Trying to process everything. Seungmin breaking down helped a lot the other day. Everything’s been helping.”

“Talking about what really happened to him—“

“Jisung.” Minho corrected. 

“To Jisung…” Chan seemed unsure. No it was fine. He didn’t want Chan to be unsure, “talking about what happened, is it helping? Or is it making things worse?”

“I just want to know what happened. I want to know who was there.”

“You’re positive that you didn’t black out and dream that it happened?”

“How did I turn the car on, Chan?” 

Chan stilled, bringing a hand to brush into Minhos hair. “You’re positive that Jisung fell?”

“I kicked him and he slipped.” Minho sighed, “and then I passed out. I told you I woke up for seconds but I couldn’t see who was with me. I know it wasn’t Jisung.”

Minho felt numb again. He blinked, eyes sore. He felt tired. Suddenly so tired and over the whole thing. He just wanted to rest. 

“Someone must have seen what happened...they were probably scared and left but—“

——

Minho woke up somewhere else again. He was tired of waking up somewhere else. Tired of passing out from exhaustion. 

Tired. 

He wished he hadn’t woken up so early. So early to hear things outside the room. So early that his head was starting to fog. He felt sick. 

“Minho?”

At least he knew where he was. Minho sat himself up, rubbing at his tired eyes before adjusting on the red haired man at the foot of the bed, “Are you okay?” 

Seungmin looked, pretty terrible. Figures. 

Minho glanced around the room, “How long have I been here?”

“Chan called me an hour ago. You passed out. He let you sleep it out but he figured someone should take you home.”

“Why didn’t he call my mom?” He frowned, pulling the blanket around his neck. 

“He had to talk to me about some things. Things you said.” Interesting. 

Minho sighed again, “I’m sorry I told him that you broke down. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just...I felt so guilty—“

“Someone else was there.”

Minho bit his lip. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention that part. But...I remember someone else.”

“Do you know who?” Interesting. 

Minho felt uncomfortable. Slightly. “No. I just know I didn’t turn on the car. I think someone put me in there and then put Jisung in the backseat. The car was in the same place so I guess...I think someone dumped Jisung somewhere else.”

“His name…” seungmin winced, “you're saying it now?”

“I should.” Minho started, “it’s been so long. I should be able to say it.”

Seungmin shifted, laying on his back beside Minho, eyes shaky. “Do you remember what they looked like?”

Minho sighed, looking up at the ceiling with his friend, “not at all. I don’t remember anything. Just that whoever it was…”

“Whoever it was, what?” Seungmin asked, turning his face, eyes settling onto Minho. 

“I wish they left me there. In the snow.”

“Why?”

“Why would anyone want to live after that?” Seungmin should hear this. Right?

“Min—“

“No, seriously. For months all I wanted to do was jump in front of trucks. Every crosswalk was tempting. I just wanted to drown myself in cold baths and starve myself. For months, Seungmin.”

Minho knew he was saying too much. Too many unnecessary things. He didn’t feel this way anymore. He was happier. Enough. He was happy enough. And he was okay. Everything was fine and good. He had his family, friends, Chan. He had it nice. It was fine. Why bring any of this up?

Seungmin didn’t deserve to hear all of this. But he did. Then he didn’t. It was back and forth. 

“Shit—“ Minho shook his head before letting his gaze fall onto Seungmins. 

Goddammit. 

Minho let out a soft whine before rolling onto his side, wrapping his arm over Seungmins chest, flipping the younger to face him. 

Minho was okay. He was okay. He would be okay. 

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, kneading circles into the man’s back. He could feel the warm shaky breath but his neck, wet sensation building at his collar. “I’m okay now. It’s okay, I promise.”

Minho didn’t get a reply out of Seungmin at all. The younger ended up falling asleep after giving Minho a wet sweater. 

He cared about Seungmin a lot. He was so worried about him. He needed Seungmin to be okay. Even after what he...

“Is he okay?” Felix worded, carding fingers into Seungmins messy hair. 

Minho just nodded, though he wasn’t completely sure. 

“What did you guys talk about other than...that stuff?”

“Just that stuff. I said too much. I think I might have mentioned things I shouldn't have.” Minho sighed, pulling himself up, eyes glued onto the red haired sleeping man below.

Felix just offered one of his genuine smiles, fingers never leaving Seungmin’s hair. 

——

“You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine, seriously. You’ve been asking for weeks now.”

Yeah, but Seungmins behavior had changed. He wasn’t as playful. Minho was worried. 

“Want me to help you cook?” Minho asked, observing Seungmin cutting vegetables for whatever he was making, he hadn’t really told Minho that either. 

“I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

Minho wasn’t going to push it. As awkward as it got with Seungmin, they were still friends. No matter how weird they were together...no matter what Minho knew. 

But it lasted too long. 

Another summer rolled in. Two years now? Two whole years since Jisung and everything. Two years of surgeries, crying, and therapy. Two years of finally going back to school to finish out his psychology degree. He’d grown interested in social work because of it, of course he knew he’d be in school for a long time to get there. But it was a start. 

Summer brought upon finally wearing sleeveless shirts, not giving a shit about the bandaged stump that used to have a hand at the end. It brought two years of finding Felix and Seungmin, and Chan. 

Chan. 

“Minho, what did you need to tell me?”

Minho released air through his nose before sliding the paper onto the man’s desk, “I think we need to end the sessions.”

Chan stilled. 

“It’s just, I don’t think it’s working out anymore. And I’m honestly, I know I probably need more time and all, so I’d like to request to start group therapy instead.”

Chan nodded, “Ah, you’re finally taking my advice….” he sounded wounded, “that's great. Yeah I can work on—“

“I asked to transfer there so I could maybe ask you out to dinner.”

Chans expression shifted again. 

“Well, my mom asked you to dinner. She uh, you don’t have a choice.” Minho smiled, trying his best to compose himself. 

“So, your mom invited me to dinner? Why the sudden request for group—“

“Well, you see. She may or may not bring up the fact you’ve taken me out on like a dozen dates.”

Chan coughed, nearly knocking over the pencil tin on his desk, “those were strictly healing trips. To help wit—“

“It’s fine.” Minho giggled, “she knows.”

Chan took a deep breath, “knows that I’m being very professional and taking care of her son, you mean?”

“No, she knows there’s been tension for months.” Minho watched as Chans eyes darted away. It was cute. Honestly, the tension began the moment Minho took them out to eat last year. “She just wants to thank you, really. And get to know you more before she throws me your way.”

“Minho—“

“That’s why I’m requesting to end the sessions.”

“There’s still a lot that we—“

“Group.” Minho leaned over the desk some, glasses slipping down his nose as he smiled as brightly as he could, “we can talk about anything else, everything else.”

“Is this impulsive?” Chan laughed back, eyes still refusing to meet Minhos, “this is the most unprofessional thing I think I’ve ever done—“

“No no!” Minho teased, “the most unprofessional thing you’ve done was take me back to your house while you were drunk!” 

“That was—“

“Shhh!” Minho slipped his fingers underneath of Chans chin now, the man’s eyes finally meeting his, “dinner. Like I said, my mom is not going to give you a choice.”

Chans eyes seemed to glimmer. That was cute. 

“Is this cliche?”

“What, falling for a guy with one hand?” Minho snorted, waving the bandaged limb. He’d honestly grown used to not having that hand. It was his dominant hand for a long time, but after years...he thought he’d be okay. It didn’t hinder dancing. It didn’t hinder much at all now that he had most of his motor ability back into his other hand. Chopsticks were no match for him. 

“Minho, I don’t want to laugh.”

“Do it!” Minho laughed instead, fingertips tapping at the man’s chin, “to answer your question, no. I don’t think it’s cliche that your patient fell for you.”

“I can’t believe you.” Chan finally laughed, trying to fight the smile that begged to display. 

Two years since Jisung. 

“Seungmin, you’ve gotten more distant with me.” Minho frowned, throwing one of the couch pillows at the Now dark haired Seungmin settled at the couch, “is it because of Chan?” Minho knew why. 

Seungmin took a minute to respond, “huh? No. Chan and you are nice. It was bound to happen.”

“You haven’t really touched me since he came over. What happened?”

“You’re basically dating, right?” Seungmin eyed him. 

“Sort of.”

“It would be rude to hang all over you.”

“Seungmin, you and Felix used to sandwich me in between you guys? I’ve literally walked in on you guys having—“

Seungmin threw the pillow back at him, “Minho.” He didn’t sound as playful as Minho hoped, “that was different.”

“How was it different? You two are still together. Have been together. What’s the issue?” Minho didn’t understand. Yeah, after awhile Seungmin has gotten pretty closed off. But this was the worst he’d ever seen. “I feel like I’m losing you.”

Seungmin winced. 

“You didn’t do anything, Minho. I just don’t want to overstep—“

“You’re not.” Minho replied, hurt expression plastered over his face, “I feel like you’re just...cutting me out. Felix has noticed it too. It’s like you’re intentionally pushing me away. What I said back then. It shouldn’t still be affecting—“

“But it is.” Seungmins expression darkened. But it was more hurt than annoyance, “everything you went through. I feel so fucking responsible and you have no idea.”

“Why would you—“ he knew why. 

“Minho!” Chan. Minho turned towards the door, the man’s eyes glued to him as he offered a small wave. He didn’t expect Chan so soon. 

“Why would…” Minho turned back, only to see Seungmin leaving towards the hall. He’d just have to talk to him later. 

“Did anything happen?” Chan Sigh, eyes glancing to where Seungmin had disappeared before settling himself at the couch beside him, chin immediately resting into Minhos shoulder, “he seemed upset.”

Minho huffed, leaning his head over Chans, “he says he feels responsible for things that happened. Again.” Chan released his own steady huff, “I told him it’s not his fault he was friends with Jisung. Like, it’s not his fault!?” 

Chan pulled himself up, hands wrapping about Minhos face as his eyes settled into Minhos, “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Minho pouted, nuzzling against the warm hand at his cheek, the sensation of someone’s hand to his face had finally become normal. Pleasant. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to lose him. Even Felix tried to talk with him.”

“I’ll talk to him, Min.” Chan smiled, thumb grazing over Minhos cheek, “Maybe I can use my therapy magic to help him realize it wasn’t his fault, either.”

Minho snorted, shaking his head from Chans hands to press the lightest peck to Chans mouth, receiving a happy sigh in response. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

Minho wasn’t sure what Chan had said to Seungmin. But whatever it was seemed to help. Minho figured at this point that it was a facade. 

Seungmin was as close to normal as he could have been, falling asleep on movie nights against Minhos shoulder, tickling him again, making jokes. It was as normal as Minho could have hoped. 

“Seung,” they were on the couch again. They were always on the couch. “Are you sure you want to go tomorrow?”

“It’s fine.” Seungmin yawned, head planted in Minhos lap, “I don’t mind going.”

“You sure? It’s been a long time since you went with me. It won’t stir up anything, will it?” Minho pouted, patting Seungmins forehead, “if you start ignoring me again I’ll kill you.”

Seungmin laughed, eyes still shut as if he’d pass out at any moment, “I won’t. Chan can come too, if you’re that worried.” 

Minho let his head fall back into the couch, eyes struggling themselves at this point, “that would be nice. He can help calm us down if we get too messy.”

“Mhm.” Seungmin fell asleep after that, sleeping so peacefully. 

Minho wondered as his own eyes fell shut, why Seungmin had shut down like that the last time they went to Changbin’s grave. Why seungmin had shoved Minho away so hard, especially after meeting Chan. A thousand things ran through Minhos mind as he fell into that sound slumber, but the most prominent thought was the most bothersome;

Why did Seungmin save him that night?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This series is 6 parts longer than I ever imagined it would be. 
> 
> I know I have obvious inaccuracies with therapy. At least I think I do. I’ve never been and personally don’t want to ever go. However, I think it was the best thing for Minho in this case. And I think it helped the character a lot. Along with the support system and his mom who I didn’t mention enough. 
> 
> Like always, if I missed any important tags please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this fic. 💛
> 
> A L S O 
> 
> I don’t know why on earth I have to do this but please do not reupload my work under any circumstances. If you’d like to for any reason please message me first, do not reupload my work. If you see my works on wattpad please report them, I will never grant permission for wattpad.  
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